A Wells Landing Christmas Page 17

  Ethan smiled. “There’s a reason why the Catholics hold Mary in such high esteem. She did more than have our Savior. She lived for him, raised him, suffered for him. Would have died for him had he let her. A mother’s love.”

  A mother’s love. Was it so simple? She would have done anything for the child she had carried. And in the end she could do nothing. It occurred to her then that she had more remorse for being thankful that God had taken the burden from her than she had for the sin itself. What kind of person did that make her?

  “A human one,” Ethan replied.

  Had she said those words aloud? “I didn’t want to lose the baby,” she said, feeling the trickle of tears on her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of one hand. “I thought I was coming here to make your day better. How is it that you turned that around on me?”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Ethan said. “To help each other every way we can.”

  She gave her tears one last swipe, feeling lighter than she had in the last two years. She had lifted part of the burden, just by telling someone about the baby, her and Zeb, and the feelings she had held in for so long.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “You have to find it within you to forgive yourself. You have to forgive yourself for the transgressions, real and imagined. And you have to forgive God. Only then can you allow Him to forgive you.”

  * * *

  How? That had been the next question she had asked him, but Ethan had merely smiled and offered her a pudding. They walked down to the cafeteria together, and despite all the other things racing around in her head, she couldn’t help but notice that his steps were a little heavier, the trip a little longer than it had been before.

  “I’m fine,” he said with a smile. “I’m going home soon.”

  She frowned, unsure of this meaning. “Your grandson is coming to get you?”

  His smile deepened, became even more indulgent. “To heaven.”

  She took a deep breath, unsure of whether she should ask the question on her mind.

  “Yes,” he said before she could utter a word. “I know I have a home in heaven. Last rites and all aside, when I die, I will go to be with Jesus. And Mary.”

  Tears filled her eyes once again, but this time she managed to blink them away. She didn’t want to think about him dying. She only wanted to think about him like he was right then, eating pudding, smiling, and talking to her about Mary.

  But she had known he was not long for this world when she first met him. Now she prayed that his grandson would get back to the States in time to see Ethan before he died.

  She couldn’t imagine her grandfather dying and her not being able to see him before.

  Ethan’s wrinkled hand covered hers where it lay on the table. “‘Now is not the time for tears, for I have been . . . I have joined with my fellow man, and I pray leave this world better than I found it.’”

  “Wh-what?” she stuttered, and her breath caught in her throat.

  “It’s a poem I read once.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “There’s more, but I don’t know it all.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “What you recited is fantastic.”

  “Don’t be sad, Ivy. Learn to forgive yourself. The sooner the better, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  He held up one hand, pinky up in the air. “Pinky swear?”

  She laughed. “Are you serious?”

  “Very. You can’t break a pinky swear.”

  She hooked her pinky with his. “Pinky swear.” She started to pull away, but he held tight to her little finger.

  “Repeat after me. ‘I, Ivy Weaver, do hereby pinky swear that I will learn to forgive myself and allow myself to be happy.’”

  Between incredulous laughs, she managed to repeat the vow. They ate one more pudding cup, and she headed home, his last words to her still playing over and over in her head.

  Start with Zeb.

  She wanted to ask Ethan what he meant, but someone had come up and the question had gotten lost in the goodbyes and Merry Christmases.

  There were only three days until Christmas. She only had one more gift to get for her grandfather, and she wanted to wait until Christmas Eve. She wanted his favorite oatmeal raisin cookies to be fresh.

  She wondered what kind of cookies Ethan would like. He seemed like a sugar cookie kind of man to her, but one could never be sure. But who didn’t like decorated Christmas cookies with icing and sprinkles? That was what she would do. Oatmeal raisin for her dawdi and holiday cookies for Ethan Dallas.

  She smiled to herself as she turned down the lane that led to her house. It would be dark soon, and though the days were mild for this time of year, once the sun went down, the wind turned cold.

  There was no smoke puffing out of the chimney. Her grandfather should have started a fire this afternoon. Maybe even kept the morning fire going.

  The thought sent a shaft of panic slicing through her. She took a deep breath and pressed it down. She couldn’t let herself get all bent out of shape because he had forgotten to keep the fire burning. She couldn’t let herself get that far out of control.

  She parked the tractor in its usual spot and made her way to the house. She kept each step slow and measured, even though she wanted to run into the house and search for her grandfather. Somehow she knew he wasn’t there.

  “Dawdi,” she called as she walked through the house. She had to be sure he hadn’t simply fallen asleep and forgotten to relight the fire. But she didn’t bother to take off her coat or bonnet. “Dawdi!”

  She checked all the rooms, but she knew it was a waste of time. There were only a few places he could logically be. The graveyard, an auction he had forgotten to tell her about, or maybe over visiting with Tassie. The last one seemed to be the least likely. She couldn’t imagine her father going to Tassie’s house. Tassie had been content to visit his home all this time. Or maybe that was further proof that was where he was.

  With a sigh, Ivy shut the door behind her and started back to her tractor.

  * * *

  An hour later and she was beyond worried. Tassie claimed that she hadn’t seen him all day. She and Karl had gone to a doctor’s appointment in Pryor and only then had returned to Wells Landing. The cemetery was empty of visitors, and the auctions had all closed hours ago. Her grandfather was missing.

  She stopped at every house along the road back home, but no one had seen her dawdi. She passed by the Brenneman place and nearly drove past before changing her mind and pulling down the lane. It was dark. The lights on her tractor were meant for plowing, not a long trip down winter roads.

  “What’s wrong?” Zeb asked as he opened the door for her. Behind him she could see Clara Rose rocking baby Paul Daniel while Obie watched. She had heard them before she knocked. Obie had been reading from the Bible, the story of the first Christmas. The perfect Amish family. A far cry from what she had.

  “Dawdi’s missing.” She hated the tears that sprang into her eyes. She had cried so much this day, she didn’t have patience for any more tears.

  Zeb grabbed his hat and crammed it onto his head before pulling on his coat and scarf.

  “Can I help?” Obie was on his feet in a second.

  But Ivy shook her head. “You stay here with your family.”

  Obie glanced adoringly at his family, then turned back to Ivy. “Two is better than one.”

  “But—”

  “You could wait at the house while we go around. That way if he comes back . . .” Zeb didn’t finish the statement. There was no need. If Dawdi came back to the house, Obie wasn’t to let him leave again.

  Obie kissed Clara Rose and the baby, then grabbed his own coat and hat and followed them outside. “You take the tractor over to Ivy’s. She and I will take hers around to see if we can find him.”

  Obie nodded, and Zeb took her arm and led her back
to her tractor.

  “Do you want me to drive?’ he asked.

  She wanted to say no, that she had this, but she had been strong for so many months, years. She wasn’t sure she could keep it up much longer. How wonderful to be able to lean on Zeb and not have to shoulder all the worry herself.

  “That’s fine,” she said. She almost convinced herself that by letting him drive she would be the one searching the fields and ditches in order to find her dawdi. Almost.

  They drove around for what seemed like hours, but could only have been about forty-five minutes. Still, it was long enough that her nose was near frozen and her teeth were chattering, and yet they hadn’t seen even the first sign of her grandfather.

  “Do you think he’s returned back to the house?” Her voice was filled with both hope and despair, lending it a husky tone.

  “We can check,” he replied. His mouth was set in a firm line, and she knew that he was as worried as she.

  Her heart was heavy as he turned the tractor around and headed back toward her house.

  He didn’t speak all the way back. It wasn’t a great distance, but it was long enough, and Ivy was grateful for the silence. The rest of the world kept going. She pretended she could hear music and television shows coming from the Englisch houses. Christmas lights twinkled merrily. And the creatures of the night who were brave enough to face the cold were creating their very own special music.

  When he pulled into the lane that led to the house, Ivy spied the plumes of smoke rising up from the chimney. Her hopes raised until she realized that it was most likely a fire built by Obie to ward off the chill inside the house.

  Zeb parked the tractor in front of the house. Ivy thought about telling him to put it up for the night, but decided against it. At this point, she really didn’t care. She had to find her grandfather, and that was all there was to it.

  “Any word?” Zeb asked as he pushed into the house.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  They stood side by side, handsome matching bookends, and Ivy simply stood there and stared. Her ears started to buzz as the feeling returned to her cold face. Her grandfather was lost. Lost! They had been all over the county. Unless he had holed up in an Englisch house. They hadn’t checked any of those. It was a slim hope, but the only one she had.

  She touched Zeb’s arm, feeling the warmth of him soak through the material of his shirt through to her. When had he taken off his coat? When had she taken off her gloves? She shook her head, trying to put her rambling thoughts in some kind of order. “Let’s go check the Englisch houses.”

  He stared at her for a long while, then finally spoke. “It’s too dangerous being out there on a tractor. Dangerous and cold.”

  “But—” She wanted to protest further, but she couldn’t find the words. Stress and activity had exhausted her.

  “No buts,” he said. He tilted her chin back to where he could look into her eyes, then said the words that she had been dreading all along. “I think it’s time we take this to the police.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Wells Landing Police Department was small and brightly lit. Almost too bright, after searching in the dark for her grandfather. Someone had strung a blue and silver garland twisted together with yellow police CAUTION tape around the front desk and all the other desks she could see. Blue-colored Christmas balls hung from the tinsel every couple of feet, though a few were missing. Ivy counted them, then went back over them in reverse order. She needed something to occupy her mind as they waited.

  Zeb had driven her into town and now sat beside her in the front waiting area of the police station. The receptionist looked to be a uniformed officer, but was busy manning the phones. She had told them to wait, and that was what they were doing. Waiting.

  Ivy bounced one leg and tried to gather her patience. She needed her grandfather to be found. She needed him to be okay. She needed him to be safe.

  Zeb placed one hand on her knee. She stopped bouncing, her gaze flying to his. “He’s going to be okay,” he said.

  “You don’t know that,” she whispered in return.

  “No. I don’t, but I have faith that everything will turn out fine.”

  Faith. That had been in short supply these days. At least for her. Zeb had faith. Ethan Dallas had faith. Why couldn’t she muster up enough faith that she could calmly sit and wait for the officer who was going to work her case?

  Because you’re a sinner. And you can’t ask for forgiveness. If you could, then maybe you would have faith. But you don’t have enough faith to trust God to forgive you.

  The words flooded her mind. They were bold, sharp, and, heaven help her, true. She hadn’t had much faith these last couple of years, so why did she think she would have it now?

  “Miss Weaver?”

  She turned at the sound of her name.

  “I’m Officer Downy. I hear you’re missing someone important to you.”

  She nodded and stood. “Jah. My grandfather.”

  “Come right this way,” he said. “Let’s see what we can do.”

  An hour later they were no closer to finding her grandfather, but at least they had expanded their search. Officer Downy had issued a “silver alert,” which meant a senior citizen had gone missing and everyone needed to keep an eye out for him. He contacted the Mayes County Sheriff’s Office in Pryor in case they heard anything. They would also cover the farms outside the Wells Landing city limits.

  “Come on.” Zeb clasped her arm and helped her to her feet.

  “We’ll let you know the minute we find out anything.” He looked at the papers that she had filled out. “Do you have a cell number?”

  She shook her head. “That’s the phone shanty down from the house.”

  He nodded, obviously accustomed to working around the limitations of the Amish community.

  “My brother has one,” Zeb said. “A cell phone.” He rattled off the number for the officer to jot down.

  They had done all they could do. It was time to leave.

  “But—” Ivy wanted to protest, yet she couldn’t find it in her. She wanted to stay there until her grandfather found his way home. She wanted to walk every street and road in the area until she located him. She wanted to find him.

  “Let’s go, Ivy.” Zeb tugged on her arm.

  “We’ll let you know as soon as we have something for you.”

  She nodded and allowed Zeb to lead her away.

  “I can’t just . . . go home,” she said. That was a little too much like giving up. And she could never do that.

  “It’s dark, Ivy. The roads are getting dangerous. We need to go home and wait for an officer to contact us.”

  “On your brother’s cell phone?”

  He shook his head in resignation and helped her onto the back of the tractor. “Obie’s at your house. We’ll have him leave the phone, then we wait for your grandfather.”

  Or news of him.

  “You’ll stay with me?” she asked. She couldn’t be by herself right now. There would be talk about the two of them when word got out that he had stayed with her tonight. But she didn’t care. She didn’t want to be alone. Not now.

  He hesitated for a brief moment, then nodded. She supposed he had come to the same conclusion she had: there wasn’t much more damage that could be done to her reputation now. “Of course.”

  * * *

  When there was no news about her grandfather and ten o’clock came and went, Zeb convinced Ivy to try to get some sleep. He could only do that by promising to keep the phone in his hand at all times.

  He lay down on the couch, but could hear the restless squeak of her bedsprings as she tried to get comfortable. Obie’s phone was stubbornly silent. Zeb wanted to will the thing to ring, but he only wanted good news. In the end, he settled for prayer. He asked the Lord to take care of Yonnie, wherever he might be. To keep him safe and warm. Thankfully it wasn’t raining, but that was about the only plus he could find with the situation.


  He had just drifted off to sleep, his dreams only partly fantasy. A creak of the floorboards roused him fully. It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t at home. He wasn’t in Florida. He was in Wells Landing. In Ivy’s home. And she was . . .

  “Ivy?” He didn’t see her, but somehow he knew she was there.

  “Did I wake you?” she asked into the darkness. Then she came into view, stepping into the shaft of moonlight that filtered in from the living room windows.

  “Why are you up?”

  She shrugged, just a quick rise and drop of her shoulders. She looked something like an angel standing there in her soft white nightgown, moonlight spilling over her. But he knew she would say she was unworthy of the title. She had seen to that herself with hateful and false rumors.

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  He pushed himself up on the couch, leaning his back against the armrest. “Staying up all night will not make finding him come any quicker.”

  She sighed. “You’re right, but . . .” She perched on the end of the couch, gently moving his feet to make room. “I can’t sleep not knowing if he’s okay or hurt or—”

  “Hey,” he said, leaning closer to clasp one of her hands in his own. “We are praying and thinking positively.”

  “I know.” She pulled in another breath to let it out on a shudder. Her composure was paper-thin. No wonder she couldn’t sleep. But it was too late for her to do anything but rest.

  He shifted until he was sitting right on the couch. “Come here.” He pulled her down next to him and she went willingly, settling in the crook of his arm much like she had long ago.

  It was both joy and torment having her so close. He wanted to ask her if they could go back. Why couldn’t they go back? But now was not the time. And he knew the answer without even asking. There was no going back.

  She rested her head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes. Now was also not the time to over-worry about propriety. Once upon a time they may have shared more, but this was about human contact. Not being completely and utterly alone in a time of need.