Chapter 19

RIDING ALONE WITH DAT to the community church the next evening wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as Lucy thought it might be, partly because her father had called for a driver to take them. It was easier because Dat sat up front in the passenger’s seat and Lucy sat behind him with another Amishwoman, her babe in arms. Lucy didn’t know the woman, who was visiting her sister-in-law on Hunsecker Road, but she was friendly and her baby boy was adorable—a thick head of brown hair and bright blue eyes. Seeing the infant, Lucy’s insides turned to Jell-O, and she had to look away.

She’d noticed her father’s notebook and folder on his lap and was glad she’d brought along a pen and a small tablet in her purse. Dat had said he was confident she, too, would receive the materials from the previous two class sessions if she wished. Lucy just hoped she wouldn’t be viewed as barging in on the rest of the group.

The trip was quick compared to the same distance in a horse and buggy, and before getting out of the van, Lucy said good-bye to the sweet-faced mother and went to walk with her father toward the meetinghouse. Dat was quiet, even contemplative, his face solemn.

“Are ya sure this won’t be a problem?” she asked. “My coming for the third class?”

Dat shook his head. “I doubt the minister will mind at all. He’s very welcoming, as is everyone.”

“How many more weeks will the course last?”

He told her there were eleven more sessions in the outline.

As they approached the church building, she suddenly blurted, “I’ve decided to sell Travis’s engagement necklace. Mamm wants you to advise me ’bout my plan to give the money to a young homeless mother.”

Her father jerked his head to look at her, mouth agape. “You still have it?”

“Jah,” Lucy replied, wishing now that she had chosen a better time to bring up such a many-layered subject.

“We best be talking ’bout this another time. Don’t want to be late for your first class.”

She nodded in agreement—at least she’d managed to voice the words. Now Dat could think about it and maybe come up with a good solution for how to sell the necklace. Anything to get Kiana on a more stable footing.

Lucy followed him into the entrance and immediately spotted his friend, Dale Wyeth, standing near the door, smiling and greeting two others ahead of them. She gasped—one was Clinton Holtz. My word, this must be the support group he mentioned! she thought. We keep running into each other.

Dale’s face lit up when he saw Lucy and her father, but she let her father do the talking, still feeling a bit tense at the Englischer’s attention, especially after their run-in. Outsiders are way too friendly. . . .

Just as her father had said, the group’s leader, Linden Hess, made Lucy feel welcome by introducing himself and talking with her and Dat, and offering the handouts for the previous meetings.

“Let’s sit there,” her father said, motioning to some vacant chairs.

Dale took a place on the opposite side of Dat. Baffled by their obvious friendliness, she scanned through the pages of the sessions she’d missed.

When it was time to start, Linden bowed his head to open in prayer. “Our heavenly Father, all of us here tonight are broken and hurting. We ask for Thy presence in this meeting—in the words we speak and in the way we open our hearts to one another. Guide our ways, and lift our spirits, in the name of our Savior and Lord. Amen.”

Lucy purposely kept her face forward, hoping her father and his friend wouldn’t notice how distracted she felt. Her mind kept returning to Wendell Keene, hoping Belinda had been able to give him the help he needed. Working at the hospice had made death and loss an ever-present part of Lucy’s days.

“What types of feelings have surprised you this week in your grief recovery?” Linden asked the group after his talk was finished.

“Loneliness,” offered a woman on the far right.

Another woman said, “Bitterness.”

Clinton Holtz raised his hand. “Self-pity.” He paused and the leader waited. Lucy could see the older man’s shoulders rise and fall repeatedly, and knowing the source of his sadness, she felt more than a twinge of empathy. “My wife is so cheerful and sweet, yet she’s really suffering.” Clinton wiped his tears with a handkerchief. “I feel quite helpless . . . wish I might find a way to alleviate her pain . . . take it on myself.”

Later, when Lucy was partnered with two other women—Sue Kaiser and Janey Marshall—they discussed the holes left when someone beloved passed away. Lucy listened as they talked about dreading the future, something she realized she had also experienced.

Sue, the younger of the two, asked Lucy, “How has the Lord encouraged you this week?”

Lucy forced a smile, trying to think of something pertinent to say, but nothing came to mind.

Sue encouraged Lucy to join the conversation whenever she felt ready. “After all, this is your first time here. If you’re anything like I was, you’re second-guessing coming at all.” Opening her Bible, she read aloud Second Corinthians four, verses seventeen and eighteen. “‘For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.’”

Lucy jotted down the reference in her little tablet, drawing encouragement from it. When our work is done and our suffering is finished, we can rest.

Janey moved on to the next discussion question. “Are we able to relinquish our fears to God?” she asked.

Easier said than done, Lucy thought, then chided herself.

The week’s assignment was to make a list of all the blessings the Lord had brought into their lives—anything for which they could be thankful.

When they disbanded, Sue lightly touched Lucy’s arm, smiling through her tears. “I’ll keep you in my prayers this week, Lucy. Remember, we’re all in the same boat.”

Am I even coming back? Lucy thought as she thanked Sue.

“It’s a surprise to see you here, young lady.” Clinton was standing right behind her.

Lucy explained that her father had been coming to the classes, and she’d asked to join him.

Nodding thoughtfully, Clinton motioned toward Dat. “That must be your father.”

“Jah, since we’re the only Plain folk here,” she said, laughing a little. “Come, I’ll introduce you.”

“Oh, we’ve met already, but I’d like to introduce you to the young man he’s talking to, my good friend Dale Wyeth . . . the salt of the earth.”

She felt embarrassed. “Actually, I guess you could say we’ve already met. . . .”

Clinton didn’t seem to hear her and led the way to Dale, who stood next to her father. She was relieved when Clinton took up the conversation, telling both Lucy and Dat that Dale’s father had been Clinton’s devoted friend.

Dale added emphatically, “Mr. Holtz here took my dad under his wing, helping my father to get his hardware store up and running many years ago.”

Lucy realized Clinton had likely loaned Dale’s father some money, charitable as Clinton seemed. And she took it all in, observing the seemingly effortless interaction between the three men—three generations connecting as friends.

Dale looked her way and caught her eye.

Feeling uncomfortable, Lucy glanced away.

The last thing she needed was another fancy fellow flirting with her, no matter what praises Clinton Holtz had spoken about Dale Wyeth and his father.