The Search (26 page)

She didn’t ask him any questions, but she did put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Everything is going to turn out fine, Dad.”

When did they switch roles? he wondered as he walked the road that led to Caleb Zook’s farmhouse, Beacon Hollow. When did Bess become the parent and he become the child?

Jonah found Caleb in the dairy barn, just as he had expected. The cows had been milked and Caleb was stacking the emptied-out milk cans into the sink to be washed. Jonah stood for a while, watching him work. Caleb had been Jonah’s closest childhood friend. They did everything together—hunt and fish, swim, skip school. They stood together as witnesses for each others’ weddings. And Caleb was by his side to help him when Rebecca died. When Jonah moved to Ohio, they lost touch.
No,
he corrected himself.
I lost touch. With everything and everyone from Stoney Ridge.

Caleb rinsed out the last bucket and hung it upside down on a wall hook to dry. That was when he noticed Jonah. “Well, well. Skin me for a polecat.” Caleb looked pleased. He picked up a rag and dried his hands as he walked over to Jonah. “Heard you had returned to Ohio.”

“I did,” Jonah said. “Now I’m back.” He shook Caleb’s hand. “Would you have time for a talk?”

“For you, Jonah, I have all the time in the world.” Caleb led Jonah down to two lawn chairs that sat under the willow tree, along the creek that ran parallel to the road.

Jonah watched the water make its way around rocks. Caleb didn’t press him, and Jonah expected that. Caleb always had a way of knowing how to work with others. When Jonah heard Caleb had become a minister, then a bishop, he knew the Lord had chosen well for the district.

A mother sheep bleated for her lambs, and the two hurried to find her. The sun was just starting to rise as Jonah took a deep breath. “Caleb, I learned something that has turned my world upside down.”

Caleb leaned back in his chair. “Well, my friend, let’s see if we can make things right side up again.”

Jonah spilled out the entire story, leaving nothing out. Caleb didn’t say a word. He just sat there, letting Jonah work through his tangled thoughts and feelings.

“This summer,” Jonah said, “it’s like I’ve woken up after a long sleep.” There’d been joy this summer, in seeing his mother and Bess grow so close, and in meeting Lainey, he told Caleb. But there was pain too, as he was reminded of Rebecca and the life they should have had together. And now, there was fear. He hadn’t been able to tell Bess the whole truth, about Simon being her father. What if he did tell her and she told Simon? If Simon did get well, would he take Bess away from him?

“Lainey was only ten years old and she was trying to give her sister a better life. She was keeping a promise to her mother. I understand that.” Jonah looked up at the sky. “But my mother! She knew, yet she didn’t tell me the truth.” He wiped his eyes with his palms. “How do I forgive her for that, Caleb? How do I forgive my mother for coaxing Bess here this summer to be a bone marrow donor for Simon?”

Caleb took his straw hat off of his head and spun it around in his hands. Finally, he looked over, past Jonah, to the large vegetable garden on the side of the house. “I’ve been trying something new this summer. I’ve got a compost pile working just for kitchen scraps.”

Jonah looked sideways at him, alarmed. Did Caleb not hear him? What did a compost pile have to do with all that had just spilled out of him?

Caleb leaned forward in his chair. “Composting is a miracle, really. It starts out with carrot scrapings and coffee grinds and banana peels. And then you give it time and the sun warms it and God turns all of that rubbish into something wonderful and useful. Something we can use and spread in the garden.”

Jonah tilted his head. “You’re trying to make an analogy of composting to the lie I’ve been living with for fifteen years?”

“I guess I am.” Caleb smiled and set his hat on his knee. “The funny thing about composting is that it ends up benefiting us. Nothing is beyond God’s ability to repair. Even kitchen scraps. He is all-powerful.”

Jonah glared at him. “So you’re saying that I just forgive and forget?” He thrust his fist against his chest. He felt so angry. He felt so cheated. “Something as big as the fact that this child I’ve been raising isn’t really mine?”

“Isn’t she?” Caleb asked, holding Jonah’s fixed gaze. “Could Bess really be any more your daughter?”

Jonah dropped his eyes to the ground. Caleb was right. Bess
was
his daughter. He had to fight back a lump in his throat.

“Nothing can ever change that, Jonah.”

Jonah looked down at the creek. “You probably want me to tell Bess the whole story.”

“I’m not the one to tell you what to say or what not to say. You’ll have to pray long and hard about that matter. I do understand that it’s heavy information for a child to bear.”

“She’s not a child any longer. She’s grown up years this summer.”

Caleb smiled. “There are seasons in our life that are like that.”

The sun was up now, filtering through the trees, creating shadows over the creek.

“As far as forgiving your mother,” Caleb said, “Peter asked Jesus, how many times should he forgive another? Peter wanted a statistical count. And Jesus responded with a story. ‘Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.’ Jesus was teaching him that we don’t live by careful bookkeeping. Through God’s mercy, bookkeeping has given way to extravagant generosity.” He paused for a moment. “So this is your story, my friend.”

They spoke no words for a long while, and yet the silence didn’t seem uncompanionable.

Then Caleb placed a hand on Jonah’s shoulder and added, “There’s someone else you need to think about forgiving.”

Jonah looked at him with a question.

“Yourself,” he said softly. “For the buggy accident.”

Jonah winced. He started to protest, to give the pat answers that he always gave—God was in control. God knew best. God has a purpose in all things. But he couldn’t say the words. He stopped and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, holding his head in his hands. “I should have prevented it. I should have been paying closer attention to the road.” His voice grew hoarse. “It’s hard enough to accept that I could have prevented Rebecca’s death . . . now I’ve learned that my daughter died in that accident too. I was responsible for them.” He covered his face with his hands and his shoulders started to shake. Something broke loose inside of him and he began to weep. He couldn’t even remember the last time he cried. He didn’t even cry when he learned that Rebecca had passed. He just felt numb. But now, this morning, he felt fresh, raw, searing pain, as if the accident had just happened. He was spilling out grief he had stored for fifteen years, his chest heaving and racking with sobs.

Caleb sat quietly until Jonah’s tears were spent. Finally, he spoke. “You didn’t cause that accident, Jonah. It’s hard to understand why God allowed it, but we trust in God’s sovereignty. Your wife and baby’s lives were complete. And now we trust they are in the presence of our Almighty Lord.” The faint clang of a dinner bell floated down to the creek. He rose to his feet. “Breakfast is ready. Jorie’s probably wondering where I’ve disappeared to. I know she’d be pleased to have you join us.”

“Thanks, Caleb. Another time.”

Jonah started to rise, but Caleb put his hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you stay here awhile and talk this all out with the Lord? I find it’s my favorite place to hammer things out with him.”

As Jonah eased back down, he asked Caleb, “So you think Bess should give Simon her bone marrow? A man such as him?” He looked away. “You remember, Caleb, how he treated Lainey and her mother. How the sparkle drained from them.” And what life would have been like for his Bess, too, had she been raised by Simon. Lainey had pointed that out to him, but he hadn’t listened to her.

Caleb rubbed his forehead. “Are we going to be part of condemning a man? Or are we going to be a part of releasing him from condemnation?” He sat back down again. “Jonah, we want to share in this world, of forgiving and being forgiven. Even such a man as Simon.”

It wasn’t easy, though. Even for Caleb. Jonah could see this was a temptation for both of them, to let consequences fall as they would. To let Simon pass away without a hand of kindness offered to him. Except for the hand of Bertha. Suddenly, Jonah felt a slight softening toward his mother. He realized how hard this must be for her, what a difficult spot she was in. Despite everything, Simon was her brother.

Caleb added, “You probably know this, but Lainey O’Toole is planning to be baptized.”

“Bess told me,” Jonah said.

“When she first came to me a while back, I told her to go without electricity for a week. That usually changes folks’ minds right off. They miss their radio and hair dryer and television too much. But she didn’t bat an eye. She’s been learning our language and choring without modern convenience. Even still, I had to make sure she wasn’t doing this on a whim.”

He nodded.

“I asked her why, and she told me she truly believes that she can serve and love God best by being Plain.” Caleb lifted his eyebrows. “Sure wish some of our members felt that way. Quite a few of them claim to be meditating during church.” He raised his eyebrows. “An activity that looks suspiciously similar to dozing.” He rose to his feet. “God always has a plan, doesn’t he?”

Jonah looked up at Caleb and did his best to offer up a slight smile. He wished he had Caleb’s unwavering faith. Ever since Rebecca—and his baby—had died, he had been able to summon only a pale shadow of the faith he once had. For how could a loving God let a twenty-year-old young mother and her newborn baby die in a careless accident? If God was sovereign, then his sovereignty seemed frightening. It was a question Jonah had never been able to work through to a comfortable solution.

Caleb watched him carefully, as if reading his thoughts. “God may allow tragedy, Jonah, just like he allowed his Son to have a tragic death.” He leaned closer to Jonah. “But God is a redeemer. Never, ever forget that truth.”

Once a week, on her day off from the bakery, Lainey traveled to Lebanon to visit Simon. She brought him baked goods and a magazine or a puzzle. He was not looking well. He had become even more pale and thin, with dark circles under his eyes. Today, she found him on the patio, getting some sun. Simon, who had always looked so sure of himself, seemed hollow and fragile.

He opened one eye when he heard her. “What’s in the box?” he asked in a gruff voice.

“Doughnuts. Jelly filled. Your favorite, if I remember right.”

“I never liked doughnuts.” He held out his hand, palm up, for a doughnut.

She opened the box and handed him one. He ate it carefully, as if he had sores in his mouth, and jelly dripped down his chin. She wiped it off with a tissue and he let her. It amazed her to see Simon helpless. “So the nurse said they’re going to release you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “They just want the bed. Government can’t bother themselves with a dying vet. Even one with a purple heart.”

Lainey tried not to roll her eyes. She had heard that purple heart line many times before. “It was Bertha who talked them into releasing you. She thought you’d be better off in a home.”

“I’m staying right here. I got my rights.”

She knew the truth was that he had no place to go. He was a pathetic, lonely old man who was dying. She looked at him with eyes that were not hard or cold. She saw him objectively. “I’d like you to come home with me.”

Simon didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t even blink.

“I bought the old cottage and neighbors helped fix it up. We’re going to rent a hospital bed for you and keep it downstairs in the living room, so you feel like you’re part of things.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “If you’re looking for money, I told you I ain’t got none.”

She smiled. “I don’t want your money, Simon, even if you had any.”

“Then why would you be bothering with a sick old man?”

That was a question she had asked herself and prayed over ever since Bertha suggested—no, informed her—she should take in Simon. She finally decided the answer was because she was able to make something right in at least one tiny corner of the vast house of wrongs. It was another thing she was learning from the Amish. “Everybody needs somebody in this world to help them through. I guess you’re stuck with me.”
And I’m stuck with you,
she thought but kindly didn’t say.

Simon tucked his chin to his chest. She thought his hands were trembling a little. Maybe not. Then he lifted his head. “I like my coffee strong, and served right at six a.m.”

A laugh burst out of Lainey. “Oh, I see you’re already giving orders.” She stood. “I’ll go talk to the nurses about getting you released.”

He put his hand on her forearm to stop her. He looked up at her, and for the first time she could remember, he didn’t look full of mockery. He looked scared. “Lainey, why?”

She patted his hand, the way she would a child. “Your debt is canceled, Simon. That’s why.”