When Hope Blossoms (30 page)

“I hope so.” Bekah pulled the album into her own lap. She turned a few pages, then used her finger to outline the figure of the little boy, perhaps five years old, standing in front of the old barn. “This is my favorite. He looks so cute in those striped overalls and bare feet. And his whole face is smiling, not just his mouth, do you see?”

Amy chuckled softly at the boy’s grin, so huge it squinted his eyes to slits. “I do see. He looks very happy there.”

Bekah nodded, her chin low. “He must’ve really liked those overalls. He wears them in lots of pictures, and Mr. Roper even kept them.” Bekah angled a quick glance at Amy. “Wanna see?”

Amy nodded, and Bekah slipped from the bed. She opened the closet door slowly, cringing at its creak. But Adrianna, sound asleep, didn’t even stir. Bekah pulled a box from the closet and tugged the flaps open. She lifted out the overalls shown in the picture and held them up. “The knees are worn through, but Mrs. Roper must’ve sewn in some fabric behind the holes.”

“May I see them?” Amy took the overalls, examining the frayed hems, the ragged holes with patches of green-and-red-plaid flannel sewn inside the legs. “My, these were well loved.” She shot Bekah a startled look. “How did you happen to come by these?”

Bekah shrugged slowly, crunching her lips to the side. “Mr. Roper told me to throw them away. These, and his wife’s things.” She gestured to another box in the closet. “But it seemed like a waste. I thought maybe somebody could use them. So I brought them home.”

An idea whisked through the far corner of Amy’s brain. “Do you have plans for them already?”

Bekah sent a wistful look toward the box in the closet. “Not really.”

Amy patted the mattress. “Well, come here, then, and tell me what you think of this. . . .”

T
he last half of July and early August disappeared quickly. After the tornado, humidity descended on Weaverly, making Amy long for the dry days preceding it. Yet she gloried in the occasional rain shower that nourished the soybeans and her garden. She and the children worked in the garden early each morning before the day grew too hot while the fellowship men harvested the soybeans and readied the soil for a winter wheat crop.

The first few weeks after the tornado, the children begged daily to visit Mr. Roper. Although a part of Amy desired to see him, too—to ascertain he was recovering from his losses—she refused the children’s requests and steadfastly turned her thoughts elsewhere. She continued to keep him in her prayers and encouraged the children to pray for him, as well, but he’d asked them to stay away. As much as it hurt her to deny the children, she knew it would hurt them more to suffer cold rejection from the man who’d been so open and caring in the past. Parker, especially, wouldn’t understand Mr. Roper’s change in demeanor. So she consistently refused, and over time, they stopped asking.

On Saturdays, the fellowship women met to can the bounty from their gardens, exchanging tomatoes for beets or peas for cucumbers so everyone would have a variety of vegetables for the winter. Amy’s cellar shelves bowed beneath the weight of full quart jars, and her heart rejoiced at the security the food stores offered her and the children. Each Sunday, the Mennonites gathered and praised God for the fruitful land and opportunity to serve Him together. Weekly, Amy felt herself drawing closer to these men and women from Ohio who’d accepted her and her children into their fellowship. But although she prayed daily for God to expose the truth concerning Gabe’s death, she never mentioned the need to her new friends.

She and the children developed a routine of visiting the Weaverly library Friday mornings after finishing in the garden. To her delight, each week she discovered several new contacts in her email box. Over the weeks, she accepted jobs from four new clients. Even as she confirmed her intention to complete the projects, she wondered if she’d be forced to sell her house and expensive quilting machine to repay the insurance agency. She and her father spoke on the telephone several times after the children had gone to bed, but thus far God hadn’t answered their prayer to provide evidence that Gabe hadn’t taken his own life. The worry ate at her, stealing her sleep at night and giving her stomach pangs during the day. But she took the jobs as a statement of faith that somehow she’d be able to fill the orders.

While Amy sewed on her projects, Bekah worked on the other side of the room. Margaret Gerber had loaned them her older-model Singer, claiming she only sewed during the winter months. Using pieces cut from the clothing that had once belonged to Julia and Charlie Roper, Bekah stitched the pieces into colorful Tree of Life blocks. When perusing Amy’s book of quilt patterns, they’d both agreed the tree formed of triangles and squares was the perfect choice for a man who operated an orchard. The appeal of the pattern lay not only in its simple beauty, but in its reminder of faith and the truth of eternal life.

For the quilt’s center block, Bekah had chosen a square of sturdy muslin and hand-embroidered a Scripture from Job, chapter fourteen, which spoke of a tree’s roots sending forth new growth. While meticulously stitching the letters onto the stretched muslin, Bekah had mused, “You know, Mom, this verse works for the apple trees that’re still blooming even after all the damage from the tornado, but it also kinda talks about people, doesn’t it? We might get knocked down by life, but God gives us strength to get up again. And even when our bodies on earth die, we get a whole new life in Heaven with Him—a life that goes on forever.”

Tears had burned in Amy’s eyes for hours after Bekah’s thoughtful expression. Her daughter’s insights offered a peek at the spiritual growth taking place within Bekah’s heart, giving Amy’s mother-heart a reason to sing.

The last Friday before school started, Amy took the children to the library and then to the Burger Basket for an end-of-summer-vacation lunch. Parker and Adrianna played tic-tac-toe on a napkin while Amy and Bekah visited. With school around the corner, Bekah seemed nervous. Amy surmised going to a new school with new teachers and many unfamiliar faces created her daughter’s uncertainties, but her heart turned over when Bekah confessed the true reason for her apprehension.

“It’ll be the first time Parker and me aren’t in the same building. What if he needs me? I won’t be close by like I’ve always been before.”

Amy took Bekah’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “If you aren’t there, Parker will learn to handle his problems on his own. That would be good for him, wouldn’t it?”

Bekah cast a tender look at her brother. “I guess so. He is getting bigger.” She sighed, facing Amy again. “But it’s hard for me. I feel like I’m letting him down by not being there.”

Amy hadn’t realized how deeply Bekah’s long-held position as older sister and protector had become ingrained in her being. She sought words of encouragement, but before she could speak again, Bekah suddenly blurted out a statement that stilled Amy’s voice.

“But maybe we’ll end up back in Arborville and in the same building after all.”

Amy stared at Bekah, her jaw slack.

Bekah shrugged. “If you have to pay back the money you got from the grain-elevator owner, you’ll have to sell the house we’re in, right? And we’ll move back to Grandpa’s house?”

How had Bekah known about the threat? She hadn’t mentioned it to the children, fearful of creating a sense of panic. Yet apparently Bekah had kept the secret for weeks. Amy shook her head. “I—”

“Here you go!” The cheerful server plopped plastic baskets of hamburgers and french fries on the table.

Amy led them in a prayer of thanks for the food. The conversation steered to other topics, but Amy couldn’t stop thinking about Bekah’s questions. She’d put off planning what would happen if she was forced to pay back the money, but she knew she didn’t want to return to Arborville. Not after someone there had made such hurtful accusations not only about Gabe, but about her. The insinuation that she would be deceitful enough to accept money that didn’t rightfully belong to her stung.

While the children jabbered, enjoying their meal, Amy fell silent, lowered her head, and let her thoughts dissolve into prayer.
God, help me forgive those in Arborville who wronged me. I want to believe Gabe wouldn’t choose to leave us
—
I want to assure my children their father would rather be here to watch them grow into God-honoring adults. But time is quickly running out for me to offer proof that Gabe didn’t take his own life. If I’m unable to keep the money, the children and I will have to move. Are we meant to return to Arborville, that place of painful memory? Or do You have another place of beginning for us?

Her heart stabbed as she considered leaving Weaverly. In only three short months, she’d grown to love the town, her new fellowship members, and—a tiny gasp escaped her lips as realization rolled through her—her neighbor. Her eyes closed tightly, she offered a deeply felt entreaty.
Reveal Your plan, Father, so the children and I might be at peace.

“Mom?”

Amy startled at Bekah’s hesitant voice. She lifted her gaze. “Yes?”

Her hand next to her cheek, Bekah pointed toward the door. Her face reflected apprehension. Adrianna and Parker turned backward in their chairs to peek. Adrianna squealed, “Mr. Roper!” Before Amy could stop them, the two youngest bounded out of their chairs and raced across the tile floor to the man who’d somehow, inexplicably, stolen a piece of their mother’s heart.

Tim’s heart fired into his throat as Adri and Parker flew toward him, arms outstretched. Unmindful of the other diners, he went down on one knee and captured Adri in a hug. Parker bent forward, wrapping his skinny arms around Tim’s neck. Tim’s baseball hat bounced off his head and hit the scuffed floor, but he didn’t care. Not until that moment did he realize how much he’d missed them. But their exuberant greeting brought back every lonely minute he’d held them at bay. What joy he’d denied himself by remaining aloof from these open, smiling, accepting children.

Chuckles rumbled from those seated at the closest table, reminding Tim they were being observed. Gently, he disentangled himself from their grips and rose, scooping up his hat and settling it back over his hair as he pushed to his feet. Adri danced in front of him, her little braids bouncing.

“Mr. Roper, guess what? School starts next week, an’ I getta go. Parker an’ Bekah, too! We all getta go. Momma bought us backpacks an’ pencils an’ paper an’ scissors an’
everything.
An’ Bekah got a cackulooter that does numbers.”

Several people at the table laughed loudly, but Tim ignored the amused snorts and put his hand on Adri’s head. He smiled down at the little girl. “Sounds as if you all had a fine time shopping.” He hoped the shopping spree meant their mother’s business was flourishing.

“Uh-huh.” She whirled and skipped back to the table in the far corner of the crowded little dining room. Tim’s eyes followed her, and his gaze collided with the children’s mother, who stared at him unblinking. Something lit a fire beneath his skin, heating him from the inside out. If it hadn’t been for the AC blowing cold air directly on the back of his neck, he might’ve melted right there on the spot.

A hand tapped Tim’s arm. “Mr. Roper?”

With effort, Tim dragged his attention away from Amy Knackstedt’s sky-blue eyes and focused on the gangly youth standing beside him.

“Wanna sit with us?” Parker’s eyes—wide, innocent, so like Charlie’s—begged.

Tim knew he should say no. He had nothing to offer these children. Or their mother. He shook his head slowly, but when he opened his mouth, he heard himself say, “I sure do.” Parker broke into a wide smile. He captured Tim’s hand and escorted him to the table. Tim borrowed a chair from another table and scooted in between Parker and Adri, who both giggled as if he’d done something spectacular.

Tara, the café’s server, bustled to the table. Tim ordered a double cheeseburger, onion rings, and a chocolate milkshake, adding, “Make it to go. I’m just passing through—lots of errands to run today.” He wasn’t sure, but he thought Mrs. Knackstedt released a little breath of relief.

“Be right up.” Tara scurried away. With her departure, Tim turned his attention to his tablemates. Adri and Parker both grinned at him, clearly delighted to have him there, but Mrs. Knackstedt stared at her half-eaten burger, her cap’s ribbons trailing past her bright red cheeks. Bekah nibbled her burger, her gaze zinging around as if she didn’t know where to look.

Tim’s deliberate separation had obviously created a great deal of angst, and once again regret smote him. How he wished they could all relax. Talk. Maybe laugh together, the way friends did. He cleared his throat—loudly—and both Mrs. Knackstedt and Bekah shot him a startled look. He poked his thumb over his shoulder. “Would you rather I wait for my food elsewhere? There’re other empty seats. I can sure move.”

“Nooo!” Adri crooned, and Parker immediately curled his hand over Tim’s wrist.

Mrs. Knackstedt licked her lips. “Of course not.”

Adri clapped her hands and then snatched up her burger. Parker reached for a french fry, and the two began munching cheerfully.

“In fact . . .” Mrs. Knackstedt flicked a questioning glance at Bekah, who sat as wide-eyed as an owl. “We’ve been meaning to give you a call. Bekah has something for you at the house.”

Tim looked at Bekah. The girl’s face flooded with pink. He offered a smile, desperate to put her at ease. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Bekah toyed with a french fry, repeatedly dipping it in a pool of ketchup. But she didn’t answer.

Adri piped up. “A pitcher book. It’s blue. Do you like blue, Mr. Roper?”

Tim looked into Adri’s clear blue eyes. The same color as her mother’s. The same color as Julia’s and Charlie’s, although theirs had been grayish blue. His lips twitched into a sad smile. “Blue is the best color ever.”

Adri hunched her shoulders and giggled.

Mrs. Knackstedt touched Adri’s arm. “You need to eat.”