Fearless Hope: A Novel, Page 2

  Hanging on that slot was assuredly not easy. There were many hungry young writers snapping at his heels. It was frightening to wonder if he would have to retire before he was forty because he was already used up. What on earth would he do with himself if he could never write well again?

  He sat, sunk in his own misery, while he watched Marla flit around his office, straightening up and moving decorative items a fraction of an inch here or there. Ever since she started taking those weight loss pills she seldom sat still. Of course, she also had a big hand in decorating his office, and she did not want the effect spoiled by his tendency to scatter notecards, pens, and piles of research books about.

  He ran a hand over his unshaven face. Being around Marla always made him feel a little grungy. An early Saturday morning and she was already in full makeup and heels. Her hair was done in an elaborately disheveled bun. Her skirt was so tight it looked uncomfortable, but he knew she didn’t think twice about comfort if it meant looking good. For lunch, she would purchase a bagel with cream cheese from a street vendor, take two bites, and drop the rest in the nearest trash can. He’d seen her do it dozens of times. It worked well for her. Marla was a head-turner. Every man he knew envied him.

  Speaking of food, he needed coffee.

  He wandered into the kitchen and grabbed a jar of instant Nescafé. The shiny, new latte machine was too complicated for him to manage this early in the morning. He tended to need a cup of coffee before he was alert enough to make coffee.

  “By the way . . .” Marla’s high heels clicked smartly on the tile floor as she walked into the kitchen, where she plucked the instant coffee out of his hand and put it back in the cupboard. “I have to go to Ohio this week.”

  “Ohio?” This got his attention. The Midwest wasn’t exactly Marla’s cup of tea . . . or his. “Why on earth would you want to go there?”

  With relief, he saw that she had switched on the coffee machine monster and was preparing to make him a cup of high-test. He sat down at the table and waited expectantly.

  “A client is insisting on Amish-made goods only. Apparently she’s addicted to those Amish romance novels everyone is reading these days. My boss decided one of us should go to the source. Apparently there are Amish furniture factories in Ohio. She thinks it might save us several thousand to deal directly with them.”

  “And you drew the short straw?”

  “Yes, I did. Do you want to come with me?”

  “To Ohio?” He grimaced. “Not particularly.”

  “By the way, I was up early this morning and I read the review.” She sprayed something on a cloth and started polishing the counter. “I know why you are in such a foul mood. It might do you good to get away for a few days.”

  He took a sip of black ambrosia. Ohio was the last place on earth he wanted to go.

  “No.”

  “But I don’t want to go alone,” Marla said. “My birthday is coming up next week. You could consider it an early present. You won’t have to get me another thing.”

  “Promise?” he asked.

  “I promise. Just come with me. That will be present enough.”

  He considered the offer. Driving her to Ohio seemed like a small price to pay to avoid having to shop for a gift. He hated wandering around department stores trying to find something she’d like. “Sure,” he said, staring into his coffee cup. “Why not? When do you want to leave?”

  chapter TWO

  Like most wives, Hope Schrock had wondered what it would feel like if she ever had to bury her husband. Would she be stoic and strong, or would she fall apart?

  Being Amish, she knew she would be expected to bow to God’s will, but deep down, she could not imagine continuing to breathe without the man she loved. She expected to feel a blinding grief from which she would never fully recover.

  Now that which she had feared had come to pass. Titus was gone. She was a widow, her children fatherless, but her mind was not reacting like it should.

  The blinding grief had not hit. So far, all she felt was a wild and raging anger . . . at Titus. Oh, how she would love to give that man a good talking-to!

  This made no earthly sense, but the fact remained—she could not will away the fury that smoldered in her breast. Oh, how badly she wanted to tell Titus that she was not a child or stupid. She had known what she was talking about when she begged him to sell that bull. If he had only listened!

  Bishop Schrock, her father-in-law, walked through the door. She kept her eyes down, fearful that he would look into her heart and see the anger she felt toward his son. Her father-in-law had his own great grief to carry. He did not need to deal with her anger on top of his own sadness.

  Titus had been such a happy-go-lucky person, especially for one with roots deep in the Amish faith. He always looked on the bright side of things. It was as though he thought nothing bad could ever happen to him or his family. It was probably that very optimism that killed him. Or his pride.

  Yet again, she remembered how he had sent her back into the house when she begged him to send the bull back, and her anger welled up yet again.

  This was not good with Bishop Schrock approaching her. He and his wife had always been kind to her, and the last thing she wanted was to hurt either of them.

  “You know you are welcome to move in with us,” he said. “Thelma and I have plenty of room. We would welcome having young ones beneath our roof again.”

  “Thank you.” She twisted a handkerchief around and around a finger. “But I would like to stay in the house that Titus and I shared together. I am grateful for your offer, though.”

  It was the truth. She was grateful, but as kind as the Schrocks had always been to her, she did not want to live with them.

  Little Adam tugged at her apron, wanting to go to the bathroom. At four, he was much too young to grasp the fact that they had just put his father in the ground.

  Tears started in Hope’s eyes when she thought about Titus, only four days earlier, sitting in the front yard, enjoying the sight of Adam playing with a toy tractor.

  Her mother, Rose, caught the little boy up in her arms and took him out. Adam had been difficult to potty-train. Her mother knew it was critical to get him out of there before he had an accident.

  A wave of morning sickness hit just as her twelve-year-old sister asked if she could bring her something to eat. Hope shook her head and forced the bile down that was threatening to crawl up her throat.

  What a mess you’ve left me in, Titus. I should be home right now with my feet propped up and you bringing me tea and crackers! Her mind skittered around as she wondered what to do about the future. A young Englisch widow would probably hire a babysitter and go searching for a job that would support her family. The fact that Hope was Amish severely narrowed her choices, even though she sometimes dreamed of what she would do if she were free to choose any career she wanted.

  She had been smarter than Titus in school, quietly besting the whole class in every subject. Her math skills were excellent, as were her reading and writing. Her father, Henry, was an especially skilled farmer, and because of him, there was little she did not know about running a farm or caring for livestock. Deep down, she knew there was really only one career she had ever wanted—in her heart she took after her father, a farmer who loved growing things. Unfortunately, knowing how to run a productive farm was not going to be of any help to her. Except for the two acres they were renting, she had no land of her own, and there wasn’t exactly a Help Wanted section in the local newspaper for Amish women wanting to work as fieldhands or farm managers.

  Myron, one of the older teenage boys from their church, walked up and stood solemnly in front of her.

  “Titus was a gut man.” He held his black hat loosely in his big farm-boy hands. “Everyone liked him.”

  “Ja, he was well liked,” she answered.

  “I will care for your yard-mowing come summer,” he said. “Do not worry about that.”

  She nodded her acceptance, unable to
speak without choking up. These were her people. They did not ask what they could do . . . they simply did it. She knew that Myron would be as good as his word once the grass began to grow.

  “Your husband is in a—a better place.” Paul Troyer stumbled over the simple words. “He is . . . with Jesus now.”

  Poor Paul. She felt sorry for him. Only a month ago he had nearly fainted when he’d opened the hymnal he had selected by lot and found the paper telling him that he had been chosen to be their next minister. Such a heavy burden on his shoulders for the rest of his life. Ah, well, the Lord knew best.

  Hope tried to concentrate and take comfort from the words that were being said by the various people who spoke to her, giving condolences. Everyone in the church knew and cared about her circumstances. Her children would not go hungry. The church’s alms would give her some measure of cushion while she tried to figure out what to do.

  From across the room, she saw one man eyeing her, and she wished he would stop. Abimelech Yoder was recently widowed and was openly searching for a new wife to finish raising his children. She would never be desperate enough to move into Abimelech’s house. He was at least fifteen years older than she was. Besides, she never cared for the man and always pitied his overworked wife.

  Adam and her mother came back and the child sat more patiently now that he had gotten his trip to the bathroom. Carrie was being allowed to play dolls quietly in the corner with some older girls who were being kind to her.

  “Where is Daddy?” Adam tugged on her sleeve and asked the heart-wrenching question in German, which at his age was the only language he knew.

  “Daed got hurt,” Hope whispered back. “He will not be with us anymore.”

  Adam looked at her with innocent blue eyes.

  “Does Daddy need a Band-Aid?”

  The question broke her heart anew. There was simply no way that this sweet child could understand what had happened, and he shouldn’t have to. Titus had been strong, young, and brave. He should be out mowing hay right now instead of lying in the ground.

  Oh, she was so angry!

  How were her children supposed to deal with such loss? Apparently, Adam intended to deal with it by resurrecting the thumb sucking he’d put away for nearly three years.

  They were quite the bruised family, they were.

  She was aware that the Lord did not promise anyone a trouble-free life. With a history of ancestors martyred for their beliefs, she did not come from people who expected an easy path.

  So why was she bothering to question the pain she felt?

  Once, she had overheard an older woman say that truly deep faith was forged on the anvil of misfortune and tragedy. Hope did not want to believe this. She did not want to possess a deep faith if this was the price one had to pay. Shallow was good. All she wanted was a happy life with her family intact.

  In the back of her underwear drawer, in a jelly jar, she had accumulated fifty-three dollars and ninety-two cents. She knew the exact amount because she had counted it only last night. It was money she had been saving to purchase new work boots for Titus for Christmas.

  How did a woman raise two children on fifty-three dollars and ninety-two cents? It wouldn’t last a week.

  Bishop Schrock and Thelma would help all they could, but she did not want to live off them and the church indefinitely. In the past, her parents could have helped, but they had their own problems these days. Her father had lost the fine farm he had inherited, by developing a weakness for gambling.

  Lord, you are going to have to take care of us. I cannot do it.

  She waited for a feeling of security and faith to fill her heart, but it did not come. Instead, her mind ran around again like a small rodent searching for food. Fifty-three dollars and ninety-two cents. Adam needed shoes and so did she. How would she pay the five hundred dollars’ rent on their home? What if their horse needed the vet? Or her cow? How would she pay for propane to heat the house? How would she pay for kerosene to light their nights?

  “You are young and a hard worker.” Missy Bylar smiled and patted Hope’s hand. “You will soon find someone else.”

  Hope flushed at Missy’s words. Titus had been in the ground less than an hour and this woman was talking about finding someone else? As though Titus were some sort of pet dog she needed to replace? She bowed her head, unable to speak without making a sharp retort. Missy, her duty to speak to the grieving widow accomplished, excused herself and went to fill her plate with funeral food.

  Hope didn’t care much for Missy. The woman always seemed so self-satisfied with her wealthy husband, huge, comfortable house, and her six children, whom she cared for with the frequent help of two hired girls from their church.

  It was rumored that Missy and her husband even kept an Englisch driver on retainer to take them wherever they wanted to go whenever they wanted to go there. The only time she ever saw them in a buggy these days was when Hans drove the family to church.

  Missy’s husband had inherited a thriving Amish furniture store and managed it well. With the massive influx of Englisch tourists into Holmes County in recent years, they had become quite prosperous.

  Hope tried to be charitable, but she wondered if Missy would be quite as cheery if all she had in her underwear drawer was fifty-three dollars and ninety-two cents.

  The table spread in the front room had a generous supply of casseroles, noodle dishes, and cooked meats and vegetables. The people carried on a low conversational buzz that to Hope’s anguished ears sounded a great deal like the buzz of flies. Every now and then, the buzz was punctuated with a laugh.

  How could they laugh when her world had fallen apart?

  An elderly Englisch woman took the empty seat that Missy had vacated. Hope knew her slightly. She was Elizabeth Conners, the grandmother of the Englisch nurse that Levi, her first cousin, had regrettably left the church in order to marry.

  “It’s a lovely day for a funeral, don’t you think?” Elizabeth said.

  A lovely day for a funeral? What an odd thing for the old woman to say, even if she was Englisch and probably didn’t know any better.

  “The day we buried my husband was so rainy.” Elizabeth seemed to be completely at ease chatting with her. “It was lightning and thundering, which matched the climate of my heart, but it made it awfully hard on the people who went with me to the cemetery.” The old woman patted her hand. “You’ll have to forgive everyone for talking and eating and laughing as though they are at a picnic. It is not their hearts that are breaking. If you’ll notice, it’s only the younger ones, who haven’t yet experienced grief, who laugh. Those of us who have been in your shoes know better. How are you doing, dear?”

  “I wanted him to return that crazy bull that killed him,” Hope exclaimed. “But he refused.”

  Her words burst out so suddenly that even she was surprised. It was the first time she had said a disloyal word about Titus out loud. She glanced sideways at Elizabeth to see if she was shocked.

  “Of course you were wiser about the danger than him,” Elizabeth said. “Young women are almost always smarter about such things than young husbands.”

  It was comforting to have someone agree with her.

  “I’ve actually given the subject some thought,” Elizabeth continued. “I think perhaps healthy young men tend to feel immortal because they are so very physically strong. They do not know how quickly one can become helpless and vulnerable. It makes them act a little foolishly sometimes.”

  This made a bit of sense to Hope—at least, it made more sense to her than some of the platitudes quoted to her so far.

  “If I were you,” Elizabeth said, “I believe I might be wanting to give that young man of yours a good talking-to right about now, except for the inconvenient fact that he can no longer hear you. He has gone on to glory, leaving you to muck about here on earth without him. My guess is, you might be in need of a little help right now.” Elizabeth reached into the pocket of her dress and brought out two bills and presse
d them into Hope’s hand. “For the children.”

  “I cannot take this,” Hope said.

  “It’s a gift, dear.” Elizabeth said. “From one widow to another. And if you ever feel like you need to have a good cry, come to my home and talk to me. I’m Englisch . . . and I don’t count.”

  “There you are, Grandma!” Grace, her cousin Levi’s Englisch wife, walked in. “Are you ready to leave?”

  Grace had worn a simple, long dress to the funeral, and Hope appreciated her cousin-in-law’s small sacrifice. The gossips said that Levi’s wife was reputed to practically live in jeans and it was also reported that Levi strongly disapproved. Watching those two strong-headed people who came from such different lives try to keep a marriage together had provided a great deal of entertainment for the local Amish community. Many felt sorry for her aunt Claire, who was Levi’s mother. Daughters-in-law were hard enough, but an Amish woman with an Englisch daughter-in-law was to be pitied.

  “I’m ready.” Elizabeth stood. “I’ve said what I wanted to say.”

  Grace held Lizzie, her baby girl, in her arms. Lizzie was about a year old. She had curly blond hair, and was sound asleep in the crook of Grace’s arm, dressed in a darling pink dress. Hope liked Grace, but most of her people were surprised that Levi’s marriage to the former Englisch military nurse had survived at all.

  Grace bent over and whispered, “How far along are you?”

  Hope was startled. Even her own mother did not yet know of her pregnancy. “Barely two months.”

  “Claire and I will be opening our home birthing clinic in another week. You can be our first client if you want.”

  “You and Aunt Claire are working together?”

  “Yes, in Elizabeth’s old house.”

  This information was so startling that it almost knocked all other thoughts out of her head. Grace smiled at her surprise. “You should come see us.”