Chapter Twenty
The soft shimmer of sunlight slanted in through the stained glass and painted a rainbow swath from the windows to the altar. A shard of light haloed Dan’s head and fell across his shoulders like a cobalt cape as he sat, elbows resting on knees in the front row.
They’d been alone in the hospital chapel for nearly half an hour, and in that time, neither Dan nor Max had said a word. Here, surrounded by flickering votive candles and glossy-leafed green plants, it seemed unnecessary to speak.
Somewhere behind them, a woman wept softly. Up ahead, a gray-haired man knelt on one of the padded kneelers, head bowed and hands folded as he sent silent pleas for a loved one heavenward.
“I have racked my brain,” Dan said, “and cannot come up with an answer . . . why was she there?”
Guilt throbbed in Max’s heart as he thought, She was there to end her life. But he couldn’t say it. Not now, not ever.
“When we first began working this morning, I saw an eagle fly over the narrows. Maybe it came back, and she wanted a closer look.”
Dan only shook his head. “You need not stay here with me, Max.”
He had to give it to the man, who’d stood straight-backed and somber as the doctor delivered the heartrending news: During the emergency exploratory surgery, they’d discovered that in addition to numerous internal injuries, Anki had suffered a shattered spine, a broken neck, and multiple compound fractures. “No need to worry that she suffered, Mr. Hofman,” the surgeon had said, “we believe your wife died upon impact.” If the words hit Max like a punch to the gut, he could only imagine how hard they had hit Dan.
“I am staying. For as long as you need me.” When it seemed he was about to protest, Max quickly added, “You would do it for me . . .”
Nodding, Dan stood. “I can pray at home.”
At some point during the drive between Oakland and Pleasant Valley, he’d need to talk Dan into staying with him, instead of going back to the house where he’d shared everything with his wife of ten years. It wasn’t until he approached his own house that Dan said, “Max. Where is your mind? You just passed my driveway.”
He could have told the truth, that he was thinking about those disturbing seconds as she smiled, then went sailing toward the creek. Instead, Max said, “Stay at my house for a few days. There is plenty of room, and you will have complete privacy.”
But Dan shook his head adamantly. “You are kind to offer—and I understand what prompted it—but I belong in my own home.”
Making a U-turn, Max headed for the Hofmans’, hoping that during the short drive, Dan would picture Anki’s things in their closet, her favorite quilt on the bed, the flowerpot on the table, and realize it was too soon to be surrounded by reminders of her.
He parked between Dan’s truck and Li’l Red, and sent a silent thank-you to Phillip and Eli. But seeing his pickup wouldn’t be enough to ease his friend’s mind.
Facing Dan, he said, “I remember how hard it was, walking into our house after the buggy accident, seeing my father’s work hat near the back door, his boots and my brothers’ lined up beneath it. For days, they had the power to turn me into a sniveling mess.”
“You were just a boy.”
“I was not a boy when my grandparents’ house burned, yet I felt the same way every time I saw my mother’s and sisters’ things.”
Dan snorted. “You were still a boy. An older boy, but not a man, either.” Dan opened the passenger door. “I am a man, and as such, I must have faith that God will see me through this.” He started to close the door, but hesitated. “Can you come in?”
“Yes.” He wanted—needed—to see Willa and Frannie, partly to remind himself that despite the nightmarish thing that had happened today, God answered prayers.
Dan said a cursory hello to Willa and Frannie and went directly into the parlor, and sitting in his favorite chair, picked up his Bible.
Willa grasped Max’s arm. “He seems so ... composed. I don’t know what I expected, but not that.”
“The calm after the storm. And perhaps before it.” Max slid an arm across her shoulders, rested his chin on her head. “He is exhausted. Once he’s upstairs, asleep, I will explain.”
Max crossed the room and leaned over Frannie’s high chair. “Just look at you,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “Every inch of your pretty face is covered with strawberry jam.”
“’Tawbewwy!” she said, inviting him to share her cracker.
He pretended to nibble at a corner. “M-m-m! Thank you!”
“When was the last time you had anything to eat?” Willa wanted to know.
“Lunch.”
The word hung between them like a sooty spiderweb, and woke images of the wonderful hour they’d shared ... and the life-altering event that had happened afterward.
“Let me make you a sandwich.”
He shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
“Later, maybe.”
“Maybe.”
She poured him a glass of lemonade, and as he sat chatting with Frannie, Willa began making a hearty sandwich. He didn’t ask, and she didn’t offer the information, but Max knew that in minutes, she’d deliver it to Dan.
As expected, she filled a second tumbler and carried both into the parlor. “I’ll just put it here,” he heard her say, “and when you’re ready, it’ll be there.”
Willa didn’t wait for a rejection or a thank-you. And when she stepped back into the kitchen, Max saw that she was fighting tears. He went to her, held her close, and turned her so that the sight of her mother crying wouldn’t upset Frannie.
As in the chapel, no words were necessary as they clung to one another, seeking and giving comfort.
* * *
Willa hurried upstairs and did her best to remove obvious signs of Anki’s presence in the Hofmans’ bedroom. Dresses and undergarments that had been tossed over chairs and bedposts now hung neatly in the couple’s closet. Shoes and boots stood in a tidy row beneath them, and bonnets and hats were lined up on the shelf above. After changing the sheets, she turned down the bed and pulled the blinds, then left a bedside lamp glowing to light Dan’s way. Across the hall, she placed Anki’s soap and shampoo into a basket on the linen cupboard floor. With fresh towels on the hooks, the bathroom was ready, too.
On her way downstairs, she noticed the sandwich, delivered soon after Max had brought Dan home from the hospital. He hadn’t taken a bite. Not all that unusual, under the circumstances; after losing her mom, Willa didn’t eat for nearly a week. Tomorrow, she’d make his favorites . . . shepherd’s pie and applesauce cake, and God willing, he’d feel like nibbling at it, at least.
“Can I get you some pie?” she asked, retrieving the plate.
Dan put down his Bible and, shaking his head, got to his feet. “No, I think I will go to bed.”
But he didn’t. Instead, he began pacing, pounding a fist into his palm. He stopped suddenly and, facing her, grabbed her shoulders. “Look me in the eye. I can handle the truth. Do you think she fell? That her death was an accident?”
In truth, Willa believed quite the opposite, and yet she said, “Yes, Dan. A horrible, heartbreaking accident.”
Tears pooled in his eyes as he walked away. “I pray you are right.” He dropped onto the seat of his chair. “I could not bear thinking she would deliberately leave me.”
“She loved you, Dan. Cling to that. Remember her as she was before her sister died.”
Eyes closed, he leaned back against the cushions. “Yes. Those were good times. Blessed times.”
Standing again, he sent her a trembly smile. “Thank you, Willa.” He was halfway up the stairs when he added, “I will see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Dan.” Wishing him sweet dreams and peaceful sleep seemed hypocritical, because she knew he’d enjoy neither.
When she turned toward the kitchen, she saw Max in the doorway, holding Frannie in his arms. “I was just on my way upstairs to get her into her nightclothes.”
“That’s so sweet of you, but I can do it.” Taking the baby, she said over her shoulder, “Do you have to leave right away?”
“I can’t leave. Not just yet.”
As soon as she’d readied Frannie for bed, Willa returned to the kitchen and found him seated at the table, shaking his head.
She poured them both a cup of coffee and sat beside him.
“I hope he will get some sleep,” Max said.
“He’s exhausted, so I’m sure he will. Off and on, anyway.”
He took her hands in his. “I haven’t even had the pleasure of sharing life with you yet, but if I lost you . . .”
“I feel the same way,” she admitted. “Do you feel like talking about what happened at the hospital?”
A heavy sigh prefaced his words. “It was awful. The helicopter pilot told me Anki was dead when they got to her, that she probably hit an outcropping on the way down.”
“At least she didn’t suffer.”
“I could not bring myself to tell Dan the truth of what I saw.”
So she’d been right ... Max had witnessed the whole thing. Willa’s heart ached for him. She remained quiet. If he wanted to share details, she’d listen. But if he didn’t, she’d accept that, too.
“I cannot think of anything more selfish,” he began. “What she did . . .”
The anguish in his eyes told her that he was picturing it, all over again.
“What she did,” he continued, “freed her from her own misery, but what about Dan?”
He was on his feet now, walking from the table to the sink and back again.
“It’s all right, Max. As long as he believes it was an accident. . .”
Max met her eyes. “I am not sure he does believe it.”
“In this case, uncertainty is less painful than reality.”
“The paramedics, the police, they all asked me questions. And I lied. Willa,” he said, his voice cracking, “I lied to all of them. The bishop will also ask what happened, and I will lie to him, too.”
She went to him, held him tight. “I’m angry with her, too,” she admitted, “because she put you in this position! If anyone knew the pain suicide causes, it was Anki. But in good conscience, I can’t be too hard on her.”
He met her eyes.
“‘There but by the grace of God,’” she quoted.
Taking her hand, he led her back to the table, where he sat and patted his thigh. “What do you mean?”
“There were times when I felt desperate enough to end my life. I’d become a criminal. An addict.”
“That was Joe’s doing.”
“I love you for saying that, but every choice I made . . .” She sighed. “Let’s just say that I could have made wiser decisions. After a while, staying seemed easier than leaving. But the longer I stayed, the more alone and hopeless I felt. And I gave serious thought to taking a handful of pills.”
“Shh,” he said, brushing the bangs from her forehead. “Don’t talk like that.”
Willa studied his face, every angle and plane, every smile and frown line. “I haven’t felt that way, not even a little bit, since I learned that I was pregnant.”
“I have said it before, but it bears repeating: Thank God for Frannie, for so many reasons. She saved you from that life and led you to me.”
Her heart swelled with love for him, and she searched her mind for words that would relieve him of the guilt associated with having misled everyone about what he’d witnessed at the cliffside.
“Worst part is,” he said softly, “wondering if Anki’s final act doomed her to hell.”
“What she did is a tragedy, but I don’t believe it’s unforgivable. From everything I learned while getting ready for baptism, the only sin God can’t forgive is rejecting Him. He knew Anki’s heart, and that mental instability clouded her judgment. He’s a God of love and mercy, so He realizes—better than any of us—that she wasn’t fully responsible for her actions.”
Max nodded, and gave her words some thought. “I agree. But my sins were deliberate, and I was completely in control of my mind when I committed them.”
“Your sins? What sins?”
“Lies. So many lies . . .”
She pressed a palm to his chest. “God knows your heart, too, Max, and He’s aware that the truth would have hurt Dan in deep and lasting ways. He’d spend the rest of his days blaming himself, wondering what he might have done to prevent the suicide. And, he’d have to cope with the judgment of the community. Plus, the bishop couldn’t allow her to be buried near family and friends. What you did, you did out of love for Dan. How could God disapprove of that?”
Max drew her closer and said, “God saved my soul, and you saved my heart. I only have one regret.”
Willa stiffened, wondering which of her past sins he might mention.
“I regret that He didn’t bring you to me a long, long time ago.”
His words felt like a healing balm, a bright light on this dark, dreary day, and moved her to tears. For so long Willa had wondered . . . would she ever know deep and abiding love? The answer was right here, in her arms, and she answered in the only way she could:
“Thank you, Lord, for this loving, bighearted man!”
* * *
When Willa heard rumblings about which church women would prepare Anki for the viewing, she insisted on doing it herself.
“You do not know how,” Rebecca said matter-of-factly.
It was true, and although she knew the ladies’ intentions were good, she felt duty-bound to perform this last act of service for her friend.
The bishop’s wife said, “Do not look so disheartened, dear Willa. I know what to do, and I can teach you.”
She nearly gave in to the temptation to show her gratitude by throwing her arms around the woman. Instead, she simply said, “Thank you, Charity.”
Several of the women’s husbands had already moved the furniture out of the Hofmans’ parlor and positioned the long kitchen table in the center of the room. Step by step, Charity explained that first, they must bathe Anki, then dress her in white. They worked in silence, and after Willa arranged the bonnet ribbons on Anki’s shoulders, they stood side by side.
“She looks at peace,” Charity said, smoothing Anki’s apron hem.
Knowing how much she’d suffered these many months, Willa hoped it was true. It was good that no one, not even Dan, would see her battered, broken body, and she thanked God that her face hadn’t been touched by the fall.
“She was blessed to have you at her side for so long.”
Since leaving Lover’s Leap that day, Willa had turned it over and over in her mind: Could she have done more? Said something? Spent additional time, one-on-one with her friend? And the answer to all three questions had been yes . . . but that, as her grandfather used to say, was water under the bridge. On the heels of the old adage, he’d added, every time, “What will you do next?”
She’d continue working at the clinic, caring for Pleasant Valley’s residents. She’d be the mother Frannie deserved, and a true partner to Max. She’d live an upright, Plain life, in Anki’s memory ...
. . . and thank God every day for Alice, who’d brought her here in the first place.
She heard the men in the parlor, rearranging furniture to make room for the simple pine coffin that friends would pass as they paid their last respects.