When Hope Blossoms (33 page)

Mrs. Rupp crossed her ankles and folded her hands in her lap. “We were so happy to learn Tim has Mennonite neighbors. Timothy”—she shifted one hand to her husband’s knee, and he automatically placed his hand over hers, stirring a longing in Amy’s breast for a man to respond to her in a similar way—“and I have prayed over the years that our son would make friends with people of his faith. He says you haven’t lived here for long, but he considers you and your children his friends.”

Amy felt as though she was missing a huge piece of a puzzle, but she nodded in reply. “He’s been a very good friend to us. We couldn’t have asked for a better neighbor.”

At that moment, Adrianna skipped into the room with a storybook in her hands. She went directly to Tim and scooted backward, situating herself between his knees. She grinned into Mr. Rupp’s face. “Okay, I’m ready.” She flopped the book open and began to read about a furry cat named Cindy. While she read, Parker and Bekah inched into the room, obviously wanting to be part of the circle but uncertain whether they should intrude.

Mrs. Rupp’s sweet smile of welcome propelled Parker across the floor, and he perched on the arm of the sofa. Bekah slipped into the remaining chair and sat erect, hands in her lap, as ladylike as Amy had ever seen her. Everyone listened as Adrianna read each word in the book, accepting Mr. Rupp’s soft corrections when she stumbled.

When Adrianna reached the end of the story, she slapped the book closed and turned a serious look on Tim. “In my class at school, there’s a girl named Trista, and her cat had kittens last week. She says if I want, I can pick one. I want a girl one, and I’ll name it Cindy, and I’ll take very good care of it. But Momma has to say yes first. I won’t bring one home unless Momma says yes.” She shifted to Amy, her face imploring. “Ple
eeee
ase, Momma?”

The trio on the sofa laughed, and Tim gave her a little nudge away from his lap. “You’re pretty smart, asking permission now. How can your mom say no in front of all of us?”

Adrianna hunched her shoulders. “I dunno. With her mouth, I guess.” She wrinkled her nose. “It says no pretty good.”

Laughter roared, and Tim caught Adrianna in a hug. He set her aside, still chuckling, and she scurried across the floor to climb into Amy’s lap.

Mrs. Rupp smiled at Parker. “You must be Parker, and your sister over there is Bekah. Am I right?”

Parker nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Tim’s parents exchanged an approving look. Mrs. Rupp turned back to Parker. “My son tells me you worked very hard for him in his orchard.”

Again, Parker nodded. He kept his arms tight at his side, a sign of nervousness, but he spoke clearly. “I helped outside, and Bekah helped inside, but not anymore. He quit needing us.” Hurt colored Parker’s tone, and Tim lowered his head. Parker went on. “But he’s still our friend. You don’t quit being friends just because you don’t see each other. If you can’t see people with your eyes, you can still hold them with your heart.” His movements jerky, Parker shifted to look at Amy. “That’s what Mom said when our dad died.”

Tears glittered in the older woman’s eyes. She nodded slowly, her gaze pinned on Parker’s sober face. “You have a very wise mother, Parker.”

Mr. Rupp cleared his throat. “And I understand you have your own business, is this right, Mrs. Knackstedt?”

“Yes. A quilting business.”

“She has quite a machine, Mom.” Tim unfolded himself from the sofa cushion. “Called a long-arm machine. Mrs. Knackstedt, would you mind if I showed it to my mother?”

With Adrianna on her lap, Amy couldn’t get up quickly. Bekah bounced up but stood silently, her eyes wide and uncertain. Before she could stop him, Tim slipped his hand through his mother’s elbow and aimed her toward the sewing room.

T
im stared at the quilt caught in the machine’s frame. Although only a small portion of it showed, something about the bright patches seemed familiar. He tipped his head, searching his memory, and then he gasped. His finger reached, brushing across a soft lilac patch while remembering how lovely Julia had looked in the flowing blouse. He shifted his attention to a gray-and-white-striped triangle, and an image of Charlie in his favorite overalls filled his mind. The lines blurred together as tears flooded his eyes. He blinked rapidly and turned away from the quilt, his gaze falling on Bekah, who stood in the doorway, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

The girl inched forward. “M-Mr. Roper, I know you told me to empty the closet, but I kept the clothes instead. And I . . .” She gestured to the quilt, her dark eyes begging him for understanding. “Are you mad?”

Anger was the farthest emotion from Tim’s mind. He snaked out one hand, caught Bekah’s shoulder, and drew her into his embrace. He held tight, his eyes skipping across the triangles cut from clothes his wife and son had once worn. When Amy had mentioned her business, he hadn’t understood why someone would request such a quilt. But looking at the patches—each one releasing a specific memory of either Julie or Charlie—he understood. What a gift Bekah had given him.

He gave her another squeeze and then chucked her under the chin. “Thanks, kiddo. This is . . .” He shook his head, releasing a soft chuckle. “This is amazing.” Putting his arm around his mother’s shoulders, he gestured his father near and then pointed out a few triangles. They listened intently as he shared how much Charlie had loved wearing overalls, and how cute he’d looked in the little sailor suit he wore to Sunday school, and how ladylike Julia always appeared.

After years of trying to forget, what joy he found in remembering. He caught Amy’s eye, and the tears winking in her very blue eyes brought an answering prick of tears in his own eyes. “Remembrance . . . it’s a fine idea.”

She nodded, her eyes aglow, and he knew she understood the deeper emotions beneath his simple statement. But did she fully understand everything she’d given him? Tim wanted her to know. He owed her a debt of gratitude, and he didn’t want to wait one more second before thanking her.

Shifting to face his parents, he said, “Mom, Dad, would it be all right if I spoke with Amy . . . with Mrs. Knackstedt . . . alone for a few minutes?”

Mom and Dad exchanged a quick look, and Dad answered. “Of course, son. Your mother and me will entertain the children. You and Mrs. Knackstedt feel free to talk.”

Amy’s cheeks flooded with pink, but when Tim gestured to the front door, she didn’t hesitate to follow him outside. He led her to the edge of the porch. A full moon hung high in the sky, bathing the yard in a soft glow. “It’s a beautiful night. Would you like to take a short walk?” She flicked a glance over her shoulder, and he added, “Just to the barn and back. The kids’ll be fine with my folks.” How odd to speak of his parents so casually, as if they’d never been absent. Yet it felt good. Right.

“Okay.”

Together, they stepped off the porch, and even though the moon clearly marked the pathway, he curled his fingers lightly around her elbow. She made no effort to pull away. As they moved slowly across the gravel driveway toward the barn, Tim spoke softly, unwilling to disturb the beauty of this Kansas night.

“Amy, I confess, when you and your kids first moved here, I resented you. I didn’t want you here.” Her puzzled gaze flicked to his face, and he gave a sober nod. “You served as an unpleasant reminder of the life I tried to escape. Every time I looked at your mesh cap and caped dress, I remembered my mother. Every time I looked at Parker, I remembered my son.” He swallowed, his steps slowing. “It hurt me. I didn’t want to remember.”

She stopped and turned to face him, the moonlight glimmering on her cap and highlighting her heart-shaped face. “We never intended to bring you pain.”

The apology in her voice pierced him. “No, no, let me finish. Although a part of me resented you, a part of me—the part I didn’t want to acknowledge—welcomed you. Having you and the other Mennonites here in Weaverly forced me to reopen those pages of my life. And in doing so, reawakened the faith I’d tried to bury.”

Tears filled her eyes, glittering like diamonds under the moon’s soft glow. She covered her quivering lips with her fingers. “That’s exactly what the children and I have prayed—that you would rediscover your faith. God is so good to answer.”

Warmth flooded Tim’s frame. She’d done even more than he’d imagined. Thinking of her and Bekah, Parker, and little Adri lifting him in prayer even after he’d been resentful and sometimes unkind raised another wave of gratitude. He swallowed the lump that filled his throat. “God is very good to answer. And you’re very good to ask Him.”

A shy smile curved her lips, and she ducked her head. “Perhaps that’s why God brought the Mennonites to Weaverly. It was His way of reaching you.”

Tim took her elbow again, and they set their feet in motion. Amazing how nicely their strides matched. They ambled slowly toward the barn, relaxed and at ease with each other. “Maybe. But He’d sent Mennonites before—a long time ago.”

“Oh?” Her face held interest.

He nodded. “A group of them came to pick apples.” Remembering how Charlie and the other boy had frolicked like a pair of puppies in the orchard made him smile. “There was a boy, kind of like Charlie—with special needs, you know?—and the boy’s dad and I had a good talk. I guess you could say we commiserated with each other, wanting to ‘fix’ our boys but knowing we couldn’t. And we agreed when you have a child who needs you especially much, you make sure you’re there for them. For the long haul. It was good to talk to the man. To know somebody understood how it felt to raise a boy like Charlie.”

Amy’s smile grew bigger. “Often I’ve wished I could talk to others who understand the uniqueness of raising a special-needs child. Do the Mennonites who came live nearby? Perhaps I could find a way to visit with that boy’s family.”

They’d reached the barn, so Tim paused and leaned against the frame. Bits of chipping paint fell away as his shoulder pressed the worn wood. “I wish I could connect you with them. I know they were from Kansas, but I can’t remember which town. I don’t remember their names, either, except that the boy’s name was kind of strange.” He shrugged, dislodging more crisp white paint chips. Maybe he’d round up the Mennonite men and give her barn a good whitewash before winter fell. “Bumper. Or Bugger. Something like that.”

She gasped. “Budger?”

Tim pushed away from the barn. “That’s it. Budger.” Amy’s face had drained of color. Tim caught her by the shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

Her body quivered beneath his grasp. “Budger . . . that was Gabe’s—my husband’s—special name for Parker. No one but Gabe called him that. So the orchard they visited was yours . . .” Realization dawned across her white face, the tremble increasing in intensity. “And you . . . you met Gabe . . . and he told you . . .” Her hands whipped upward, her fingers curling around his wrists as if she needed his support to keep herself upright. She stared at him, wide-eyed and almost desperate. “He told you he thought it was important to be there for Parker? For . . . forever?”

“Yes, if the man I spoke to was your husband, that’s exactly what he said.”

A laugh trickled from Amy’s throat. Tim might have thought it maniacal, given her present state, had it not been for the note of joy beneath. She released his wrists and stepped away from his hands, turning her face skyward. “Thank You, Father. Thank You.” She spun to face him again, her hands reaching. He automatically reached back, and she held tight while jabbering a story about her husband’s death initially being ruled accidental and then changed to a possible suicide attempt.

She finished, “The insurance agency needs some sort of verification that Gabe didn’t choose to end his own life. It could very well be that your conversation with him, in which he indicated a desire to be there for Parker, would be helpful. Would you be willing to contact the agent and share with him what you just told me?”

“Of course I will.” Tim pulled one hand free but linked his fingers through hers with the other. He led her toward the house, the fit of her small hand within his comfortable, natural. “First thing tomorrow, I’ll give the man a call.” Just short of the porch, Tim stopped, drawing Amy to a halt with him. “If my word isn’t enough to convince them, what will happen?”

“I’ll certainly have to sell the house and my sewing machines to repay the money I was given.” Worry briefly creased her brow, but then a smile chased the lines away. “But if I’m forced to do so, I will accept it as God’s will. He’s met my needs in the past. I have no reason to believe He’ll neglect me now.”

Tim marveled at her strong faith despite all she’d lost. “You humble me, Amy. And inspire me.”

She drew in a slow breath, her expression hesitant. “Tim, may I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Was . . . was Julia a believer in Jesus?”

Tim nodded. Julia’s faith had been unfaltering. “She led Charlie to the Lord when he was very young. Sometimes I think Charlie’s faith was even stronger than Julia’s. With his simplistic way of viewing the world, he was incapable of seeing evil.” In some ways, Charlie had been fortunate.

Tears glittered in the corners of Amy’s eyes. She squeezed his hand. “Then you’ll see them again someday, just as I’ll see Gabe. And in Heaven, Charlie is whole, just as my son will one day be fully restored to wholeness.”

Something warm and powerful gripped Tim’s heart. In his imaginings, although he loved Charlie unconditionally, he always viewed his son as disabled. Amy’s words transformed the images, giving him a glimpse of the marvel of eternal glory. A lump filled his throat. “Thank you, Amy.”

They stood for long moments, their gazes locked, and Tim felt as though their hearts beat in sync. He hadn’t experienced such oneness with another human being since he’d lost Julia. The realization left him breathless and yet completely at peace at the same time.

Finally she sighed, tipping her head toward the house. “I suppose we should go in. They’re probably wondering what happened to us.”

Tim wasn’t ready to abandon their silent communion, but he nodded. He released her hand and followed her inside. They found his parents and the children seated around the kitchen table, sipping tea and playing a game of dominoes. Adri sat in Dad’s lap, instructing him on what to play next, and they all looked as if they’d known one another for years rather than minutes.

Amy paused in the kitchen doorway, flicking a warm smile over her shoulder at Tim. He returned it, then shifted his gaze to the group at the table. His mother lifted her face and caught his eye. A secretive smile played on her lips, and Tim’s cheeks blazed hot. He jerked his gaze elsewhere, only to collide with Amy’s profile.

He examined the soft turn of her jaw, the dark hair smoothed neatly beneath her prayer covering, and her delicate ear framed by the ribbon falling from her cap. His mother had correctly recognized his deep affection for this woman. But if Tim were to act on the feeling, he would have to make some serious changes in his life. Something pinched his chest. After years of living in the outside world, was he willing to be fully Mennonite again?