Stop beating yourself up about David’s parents.
The thought replayed endlessly in Abby’s head as she got up, said her morning prayers, dressed and went to the community center. It echoed beneath the clatter of pots and griddles as she worked with other volunteers to make breakfast. When she spoke with the men and women who would be braving the afternoon’s spring showers to start another house, the words in her mind repeated as an undercurrent almost as vicious as the flood that had torn through the town.
What had she done to upset them? David had assured her that she hadn’t said anything wrong, but his dismay had been displayed on his face. He’d been as tense as the teen volunteers were when they thought Hunter Keyes and his band of bullies were nearby.
She shrugged aside that thought. She shouldn’t be comparing Mr. and Mrs. Riehl to teenage troublemakers. They’d raised a gut son, and they hadn’t been unkind to her. Just cold enough to give her frostbite.
Because they don’t like the Amish.
The thought made her stop as she was about to take her favorite mixing bowl out of the cupboard. Where had that idea come from? Now that it had erupted into her mind, she couldn’t ignore it.
“Excuse me,” murmured one of the other volunteers who needed to get to the cupboard.
Abby moved aside, not noticing who it was. She was too mired in her conflicting thoughts. She didn’t want to believe the Riehls had such negative feelings about the Amish.
Or that David had.
Was prejudice the reason he had acted so oddly the first time they’d met? She pressed her hand over her aching heart. How could it want to belong to a man who’d been raised to dislike the Amish?
No, she couldn’t be certain that was the case. After all, why would his parents have such a prejudice against plain folks? It didn’t make any sense. Most Englischers, if they thought about the Amish, found them pleasantly quaint. She’d heard an Englisch tourist in Bird-in-Hand use those exact words.
Pleasantly quaint.
“Abby?” asked Rachel with an urgency that suggested she’d tried to reach past Abby’s reverie more than once.
“Sorry. Lost in thought.”
“I’ve got a question nobody else seems to know the answer to. How do you deal with food allergies?”
“We try to have a variety of dishes, but we do ask people when they arrive if they’ve got allergies or sensitivities.” She smiled. “Didn’t someone ask you?”
“Ja, and I was asked if Loribeth and Eva do.” She smiled as she spoke her toddler daughters’ names.
“Do they?”
“Not so far, I’m grateful to God. I’ve seen what families have endured when someone can’t eat the food everyone else can. It’s like having to run a restaurant.”
Abby laughed. “Like we do here. We provide food for vegetarians and for those with salt issues and various allergies. I wish I had more recipes for those who have a problem with gluten.”
“I’ve got a few if you’d like them,” Rachel offered.
“I’d love them. Does someone in your family or among your Leit need to have gluten-free dishes?”
“They’re just recipes I’ve picked up through the years.” She turned away to put the plates on top of the others in the cupboards. “This isn’t the first time I’ve volunteered for a mobilization like this.”
“You must have been talking with Glen. He likes to use words like mobilization when he talks about his volunteer projects.”
Rachel picked up a big pan from the dishwasher and opened cupboard doors, looking for where it belonged. When Abby directed her to the pantry, she said, “Danki.”
Abby reached for a dishcloth to wipe down a counter, then halted when Glen entered. He looked around the main room, then came toward the kitchen. When she called a gute mariye, he smiled.
“Have you seen David Riehl?” he asked.
“No. He hasn’t been here.”
“Okay, I took a chance. I’ll call him at home later.” He turned toward the door, then paused. “If you see him, have him give me a call or drop by my office.”
“I will.” She wanted to ask why Glen was looking for David, but kept her lips buttoned.
As if she’d called the question after him, Glen faced her. “I need to talk to him right away. We have to decide which families will be getting the next houses rebuilt, and the St. Pierre house came up on our list. I need to know if he wants us to move forward with it now or not.”
“St. Pierre house?” She couldn’t believe the words as she spoke them. “Are you talking about Mikayla’s daed’s house?”
“Mikayla’s house now.”
“It was destroyed in the flood?”
He nodded. “It was set below the covered bridge and dam. When the dam failed, the water destroyed two houses in the curve of the brook. Washed them away as if they’d never been there.”
“I didn’t know. Nobody ever mentioned it.”
“Hmm... I thought I did the day I asked you and David to take over the teen program.” His smile returned. “By the way, I’m hearing positive things about what you’re doing with the kids. Thanks for your hard work.”
Abby managed to mumble something in response. As he left, she sat at one of the tables. Mikayla had lost her home within weeks of her daed’s tragic death? Why hadn’t David told Abby? He must have, like Glen, assumed she already knew. Thinking of the meeting they’d had in Glen’s office weeks ago, she recalled the project manager mentioning how they’d be soon choosing the next houses to be built. Not once had she imagined one of the houses might replace Mikayla’s home.
Tears filled her eyes as she bent her head to pray for strength for the girl who’d lost even more than Abby had imagined. She asked God to guide her in helping the girl by being able to listen to Mikayla’s needs and fears and doubts.
As she murmured an “Amen,” she opened her eyes to see Mikayla crossing the room toward her. “Mikayla, what are you doing here now? You should be at school.”
“I know, but I need to talk to you about something.” The girl hesitated. “Something important.”
“Of course. Anytime.” God, I ask for Your help for this moment. Please be here for both of us.
Mikayla glanced at the bustling kitchen. “Can we talk somewhere else?”
“How about we talk while I walk to school with you?”
The teen nodded and stepped aside as Abby went to collect her coat and bonnet. Going out into the spring day, Abby admired the crocus blossoms and the spikes of daffodils pushing their way up through the softening ground, but turned her attention to the girl beside her.
Mikayla glanced around again to make sure nobody else stood too close, though the street was empty except for them. She leaned forward to whisper, “I don’t like David’s parents.”
“You’ve just met them.”
The teen grimaced. “Don’t tell me to give them a chance to show their true selves. I’ve already seen them.” She folded her arms in front of her and glowered at the sidewalk. “I don’t like them, and they don’t like me.”
Abby resisted saying she understood why Mikayla felt as she did. Abby’s own first impressions of David’s parents continued to disturb her.
“I won’t tell you to give them a chance,” Abby said as they crossed the street and stepped onto the green. “They’re going to be a part of your life because they’re David’s mamm and daed.”
“So I need to grin and bear it when they tell me everything I do and say and how I look is wrong.”
“Everything?”
Mikayla’s scowl lessened by a few degrees. “Well, maybe not everything. I’m not doing anything wrong when I breathe.”
Chuckling, Abby put her hand on the girl’s stiff shoulder. “Then breathe when you’re around them. Don’t bristle in frustration. Don’t talk back. Don’t glare at them. Breathe and be grateful God’s given you a chance to see how wunderbaar most things are in your life.”
“You make it sound easy. To be honest, if I had anywhere else to go, I would.” She didn’t pause before she blurted, “How can someone like me become someone like you?”
Abby stared at the teen. Someone like her? Mikayla didn’t want to be like her, living her life in the shadows of events that had happened almost a decade before.
“What do you mean when you say ‘someone like you?’” Abby asked.
“Amish, of course.”
Abby was shocked speechless. She hadn’t expected the girl to say that! “Why are you interested in becoming Amish?” She let a hint of levity into her voice. “I know it’s not because of the clothes. I’ve seen you and your friends giggle about what we wear.”
Mikayla gave her a shy grin. “I’m sorry about that.”
“No need to apologize. God wants us to be honest with one another because that helps us be more honest with Him.”
“And that is why I want to be Amish!”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your faith isn’t something you talk about on Sundays. It’s something you live every minute of every day.”
Abby took the girl’s hand and led her to a bench by a tree. Sitting, she drew Mikayla down beside her. She swiveled on the bench so she could look at the teen.
“Mikayla,” she said, hoping she was striking the right balance between stern and sympathetic, “I can see you’re not being honest with me. What’s the real reason you’re asking about becoming Amish?”
The girl’s eyes cut away toward the far side of the village green. “You’re a family. You told me your grandparents live in the house with the rest of your family.”
“Ja, they live with my cousins in Pennsylvania.”
“And you’ve got a new stepmother, but you don’t resent her.”
“Why would I resent Lovina? She’s kind, and she makes Daed happy. He was sad and lonely with only his kinder around.”
Mikayla lifted off her glasses and knuckled her eyes, but tears bubbled at their corners. “I miss being part of a family.”
“You are part of a family. A small one, but you and David are a family.” She leaned forward and put her hand over the girl’s. “Have you talked to him about this?”
“Not exactly.”
“Not exactly means no, ain’t so?”
The teen nodded.
“You asked me what I think,” Abby said, “and I think you and David need to talk. Honestly. David was your daed’s best friend for years and years. Your daed named David as your guardian.”
More tears erupted from the girl, and she hid her face in her hands, pushing her glasses to an odd angle. “I know that, Abby.”
Pulling Mikayla’s hands away from her face, she looked the tearful kind in the eyes as she straightened Mikayla’s glasses. “As long as you keep putting up walls between you and David, you won’t have the family you long for.”
She lowered her head and her long, silken hair pooled on her lap. “I don’t want David to be my father.”
“Why?” Abby asked, shocked. “He cares for you.”
“I can’t. Okay? Can’t we leave it at that?”
Though Abby knew she should say no, she whispered, “Of course.”
“Why can’t I become Amish and then everyone will be part of my family? I won’t do—” She halted her words and swallowed hard as she wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered. “It’d be easier.”
So many things Abby wanted to ask because the girl acted as if some horrible, dark cloud hung over her, but Abby held her tongue. Guiding the girl toward an answer was all she could do. She couldn’t make up Mikayla’s mind for her. She wondered if she should speak of what Glen had told her about David arranging to have Mikayla’s home rebuilt. The project manager wanted to talk to David before Mikayla was informed. There must be a reason for that, and Abby didn’t want to make the situation more difficult.
Once Mikayla had pulled herself together, the teen headed to school.
Abby returned to the kitchen. Without a word to anyone, she picked up the phone and called David.
As soon as he said hello, she said, “David, this is Abby.”
“Abby! Is something wrong?”
“No. I wasn’t sure where you’d be working today, and I wanted to invite you and Mikayla and your parents to join us tonight at the community center for supper.”
There was a long pause before he said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Maybe not, but you need to come here tonight. That way your parents can meet more of our volunteers, not just the Amish ones.”
Again time stretched before he replied, “I’ll ask them. I’m not making any promises.”
“Of course not, but I’m sure Mikayla would like them to meet her friends. It might create a stronger connection between your parents and her.”
This time he didn’t hesitate. “Now that is a good idea. Thanks, Abby. I’ll see you this evening. Around six, right?”
“That’ll be gut. Danki, David.”
She hung up the phone, praying she’d done the right thing.
David half anticipated his parents to balk at the community center door, but when he held it open, they followed Mikayla into the main room. It was bustling with an expanded group of volunteers who’d come to start the next projects. He glanced with guilt at Mikayla. He hadn’t said anything to her about Glen’s call to let him know the St. Pierre house could be among the next raised out of the mud left by the flood. Glen had said he needed a decision by the end of next week, so David was delaying it until after his parents left in a few days for Old Orchard Beach in Maine.
After putting their coats on one of the many pegs along the wall, his parents hung back as they faced the noisy, jubilant crowd celebrating that a roof had been completed a few hours ago. Mikayla wove her way through as she looked for her friends. Or was she trying to get away from his parents who’d critiqued everything she’d said and done since their arrival? Though he’d asked them to stop, they continued to harangue the girl.
Odd, but he never would have guessed he’d see his parents and Abby’s brother as similar, but both seemed intent on having the world match their image of what it should be. They’d been as exacting with him as they were trying to be with Mikayla. Maybe, he realized with astonishment, that was why he’d tried to give his daughter her space. Had he gone too far in the other direction in his attempt not to be the type of parent his own had been?
“If we want to eat,” David said, motioning to the queue of people snaking among the tables, “we should get in line.”
“No hurry,” his mother said. “We can wait, can’t we, Ed?”
“Yes,” his father replied, “let the others who’ve worked hard go first.”
Puzzled because his father had mentioned how hungry he was several times, David offered to introduce his parents to Glen and some of the other volunteers. Again, they demurred, seeming happy to cling to their corner where they could talk to each other.
He excused himself when Michael Miller motioned to him. Michael was sitting with his soon-to-be family at a table not far from the pass-through window. Smiling a greeting to Michael’s fiancée and children, David congratulated his friend on getting the roof up on the house his team was building.
“It’s a gut feeling to have that important step done with April showers coming and going.” Michael put down his fork. “I was wondering if you could stop by tomorrow or the next day and check on the furnace before we fire it up the first time. Just to make sure we’ve gotten the connections right.”
“Be glad to.” He done the same for each of the previous houses. He hadn’t found any problems, but he appreciated Michael’s sense of caution. “Any time better for you?”
“Whenever you want to stop by.”
“Sounds good.” His smile wavered when he saw Abby walking toward him. He was glad she hadn’t expected him to apologize for kissing her, because he wasn’t sorry he had. But since then, nothing had been the same between them.
She refilled Michael’s cup with what she assured him was decaf. “David, let your folks know that they can get in line at any time.”
“They told me that the people who’ve worked hard today should have first dibs on the food.”
“How kind of them, but let them know we made enough to feed everyone at a mud sale.”
He recognized the term from some memory that had been lying quiescent. A mud sale was an auction held in the spring, usually a fund-raiser for a school or a local volunteer fire department. The term mud sale had come about because when the sales were held, the earth was no longer frozen and spring rains often turned the grounds around a barn into a quagmire.
More and more as he spent time with Abby, the bits of his past that he’d stashed into a deep corner of his mind were springing to life again. So many were happy memories, and he wondered why he’d pushed them away.
That, he knew with abrupt insight, was easy. He hadn’t wanted to upset his parents who had been distraught at whatever had driven them from their Amish lives. Even a young child knew when something caused a parent anguish and would do whatever was necessary to avoid it.
Abby picked up another empty cup and filled it.
When she handed it to him, he said, “I don’t like decaf.”
“Sorry.” She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “We need to talk. It’s important, David.” She glanced at his daughter. “Really important.”
“Can it wait until tomorrow? With my parents here...” He didn’t finish and he guessed he didn’t have to because understanding bloomed in her eyes.
“I guess it’ll have to. I’ll see you then.”
Though he wanted to ask her what was wrong, he didn’t. Mikayla was unhappy with his parents in the house, and he hoped that was what Abby wanted to discuss. He didn’t want to think what other difficulties might lurk in his troubled relationships.
The community center was wrapped in dusk when Abby heard the door open. In astonishment, she saw David skulk into the kitchen. Why was he back now? He’d said they’d talk tomorrow. What had changed his mind?
Earlier, she’d watched him with his standoffish daed and mamm. They’d sat by themselves and had spoken only when someone stopped by their table to talk to David. When they’d dawdled over their meal, making the kitchen volunteers wait to clean their dishes after the others had been done, she’d been surprised. She’d assumed they’d duck out quickly. Were their unfriendly ways the reason David hadn’t spoken much about them? That didn’t make sense, because she’d seen that he had affection for them in an almost protective way, as if they were the kinder and he the parent.
“Kaffi?” she asked instead of the questions pounding against her lips.
“No, thanks. You said we needed to talk about something important. Something about Mikayla?”
She gestured for him to follow her to one of the tables in the dimly lit main room. Sitting, she waited until he chose a seat facing her. The distance between them seemed too intimate and too vast at the same time.
He listened without comment as she outlined the conversation she’d had with Mikayla earlier. Leaning back in his chair, he sat so his face was too shadowed for her to read his reaction.
“She’s hurting, David, and she doesn’t know where else to turn. She wants to have a family, but she seems scared of making one with you.”
“Scared?”
“Ja. For some reason she believes it’d be different if she lived a plain life. I didn’t want to discourage her, but she sees living as we do a panacea for her grief.”
“I can think of a sure way to change her mind.” His voice coming out of the shadows was grim.
“What is it?”
“I can tell her the truth.”
“The truth? The truth about what?”
“Me. Me and my parents.”
Now he had baffled her because she opened her mouth to ask another question, but no sound emerged. She took a deep breath and released it before she asked, “Why would the truth about your family have anything to do with her thinking she wants to live a plain life?”
“Because we used to be Amish.”