Fraying at the Edge (7 page)

The knot in Abram's stomach began to ease. Talking changed nothing, so why did it help him feel so much better?

“It seemed to happen so quickly.”

“Some of that was Mamm's mistake, and she admits it. Once she suspected the truth and saw Skylar on stage, she felt God was directing her to connect with Skylar, and she let Brandi know that the girls were likely swapped at birth. But when the father, Nicholas, caught wind of what was going on, he rushed in, got blood work done on Skylar, and then started threatening lawsuits if Ariana didn't leave this life and spend time with them in the Englisch world.” He intertwined his fingers. “So Ariana is doing that to keep Rachel out of jail. Part of me wishes they'd let Rachel pay the price instead of Mamm and Ariana.”

“But how could Ariana stay here and let her biological father send a sixty-year-old Amish woman to jail?”

“She couldn't, which brings me back to why I'm thinking about quitting my construction job. I can't let the café go under while she's gone.” Abram wasn't used to being so sure of something…of anything. He wasn't a leader, but he had to take matters into his hands this time. “The benefit left the café in pretty good shape to pay its bills for the next few months, but if it is run so poorly that there aren't any customers after that money runs out, we'll lose the café before Ariana returns. I can't allow that.”

“Do you know anything about cooking or running a café?”

Abram shook his head. “Nothing.”

“By all means you should quit your paying job.” Cilla smiled.

Abram laughed. “I know. It's crazy talk, isn't it?”

“Not completely.” Cilla's brows furrowed. “You're pale. Are you feeling poorly?”

“A little, but only because I haven't eaten right. That can wait. I need answers.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Ya, but I'm fine. I wanted to talk for a few minutes, just us.”

“Sure, but let me fix you a plate. Stay here, and I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail.”

He started to protest, but his stomach overruled him. “Denki.”

“Glad to do it.” Cilla went inside, and it seemed he'd barely gotten comfortable when she returned with a plate of food. “It's just leftovers from supper, but they're still warm.”

“Denki.” Homemade mac and cheese had never looked so good, and she'd given him an extra-generous portion of beef tips. He forked the beef and noodles together. “
Ach,
that's good.” He felt better and more like himself with each bite.

Cilla set a glass of water on the table beside him. She waited quietly while he ate, and they watched as the late afternoon turned into the dark autumn night. “What about Skylar? Couldn't she be enough help that you could keep your job?”

“I don't know that she'll warm up to the idea of helping out at the café, but even if she does, I doubt she'll be much help. She never offers to do anything, including putting her own dishes in the sink. Daed won't put up with much more of that, but I doubt she's ever held a job or had a chore list.”

Cilla blinked, her eyes wide. “Oh.” She leaned back in her rocking chair, staring forward. “I can see why you're thinking about quitting.”

“Ya, but jobs for poor Amish folk don't come easy. Not unless your grandfather or Daed or an uncle owns a business.”

“It seems to me that you have your answer, don't you?” Cilla buttoned her sweater. “I could help at the café a couple of days a week. With both of our efforts, we might equal one slightly skilled person.”

“That's very generous.” Especially considering her health. “But I'm not in favor of that idea.”

“Why?”

“Most important, your health. And we don't have money to pay employees yet.”

“I'm fine now, could be for months. That's how CF works for me. And I don't want to be paid. Being a volunteer is perfect, no?”

“I…I don't know, Cilla.”

“Would it help if I begged?” She clasped her hands together.

“No.”

“Gut.”
She stuck out her hand. “We have a deal.”

Abram hesitated. She was definitely pushing for her way and for all the right reasons. “Deal.”

He shook her hand, noticing how very soft it felt in his.

What would it be like if he never let go?

“S
weetheart,” Isaac said, “if you keep that up, you're going to wear off the enamel.”

Lovina glanced in his direction. Her husband peered at her over the top of his newspaper. His gentle smile said he understood, but it did little to settle her emotions.

“At least then I would get past one hard coating around here.” Lovina turned away from the stovetop she had been attacking with a rag. She would be encouraged if she could see one tiny victory in penetrating Skylar's armor. Despite helping with some chores yesterday, the girl skillfully avoided contact as much as possible through sleep, sarcasm, and indifference. Maybe those were defense mechanisms, but she seemed to detest everything about the situation—their faith, their large family, and their lack of electricity, cars, phones, entertainment, and education. They had to talk to her.

Isaac folded the newspaper and laid it on the table beside him. “Skylar's only been here five days.”

“Ya, five days without her letting down her guard once. Five days without her setting aside her disdain for us long enough to have one truly good moment, a moment where she connects. All she sees are poor people who aren't worth her time.”

“Do you think Ariana is embracing Brandi and Nicholas any better?”

Lovina eased into a chair. “May God forgive me, but I hope not. They're…worldly, probably dangling every shiny bauble known to man in front of her.” Did feeling that way make Lovina a hypocrite? She wanted Ariana to return unscathed by her new world, but she wanted Skylar changed by the power of God.

Isaac glanced at the clock, but he said nothing. Usually at this time of the morning they would be busy with their workday, but they remained in the kitchen, hoping Skylar would wake and the three of them could talk.

“I don't know if I should tell you…”

Isaac frowned. “If we're going to make any difference, we can't hide anything from each other concerning Skylar.”

“Okay.” Lovina glanced at the stairway and lowered her voice. “The whole time she and I were together yesterday—working some in the garden and then making lunch—she gave me nothing, Isaac. Not one kind word, not a smile, not really even lifting a hand to do any real work. She dragged herself through every hour and disappeared if I so much as blinked.”

But Skylar had logged time on her feet and not in her bedroom. That had to count for something. Today she'd slept in, waking only long enough to say her head hurt again.

Since everyone else was gone in a dozen directions now, Lovina thought it might be a good time to try to find something in common, something fun or interesting they might begin to bond over.

Her guilt about the girls hadn't eased, nor had her grief. The situations Ariana and Skylar had been forced into were unfair, and Lovina carried the most responsibility. But she couldn't let that drown her. There was work to be done in both their lives—prayers to be prayed and battles to be fought. Lovina had to keep moving forward. This was no time for immobilizing regret.

But one of the undeniable realities was that the hole Ariana had left—her tender heart toward everyone and her love of hard work—felt as deep as the well in the side yard.

Lovina picked up Isaac's mug and took a sip of lukewarm coffee. “I hope Ariana is putting forth good effort for Brandi and Nicholas.”

“She is.”

“I'd sort of hoped that Skylar was one of those Englisch people who was enamored with Plain life.”

“That would have made the transition easier, but she would realize we're not on that pedestal, because no one is. At least this way we get to work our way up, and it'll be based on who we are, not who she thinks we are.”

Lovina slid her hands over Isaac's. “That's a good way to look at it, I suppose.”

He glanced at the clock. “It's almost ten. Perhaps you should wake her.”

“What if she didn't fall asleep until nearly morning?”

“Then she'd fit in with the rest of us, I think.” He shrugged. “No one is sleeping well right now.” He opened his paper and began reading again.

Lovina put a fresh pot of coffee on to percolate. She had a bacon biscuit sitting in a warm, covered frying pan. Surely Skylar would be up soon. In the meanwhile Lovina started scrubbing the inside of the oven. Twenty minutes later she heard the floor overhead creak and light footsteps on the stairs.

Still in her red silky pajamas, Skylar walked into the kitchen. Her blond hair with its black streak was tousled, and her gait resembled that of a wobbly-kneed senior citizen. She spotted them and froze, as if surprised to see them. Usually by this time Lovina was up to her elbows in outdoor chores—mostly laundry, some gardening, and helping with the never-ending farm work.

Lovina smiled. “Kumm. Sit.” She took a mug from the cabinet and poured hot coffee. She put the bacon biscuit on a plate and placed both in front of her.

“Thanks,” Skylar mumbled and leaned her temple against her palm.

Lovina passed her cream and sugar.

Skylar gave Lovina a sleepy halfhearted smile before returning her focus to the coffee.

Lovina sat across from her, and Skylar shifted. Were they making her uncomfortable? Lovina waited for the words to come to her, but her brain was just dead weight, and she looked to Isaac for help.

He fiddled with the edges of his newspaper. “We are wondering how you're doing. You know, how are you feeling about the transition?”

His words were as stiff as the oak table between them. How were they going to reach into Skylar's heart to make a difference when they couldn't get past their own awkwardness?

Skylar took a sip of coffee. “Not much to compare this to, is there?”

“True.” Lovina stopped her fingers from fidgeting. “Still, you should know how you feel, right?”

“Considering how surreal this tabloid ‘switched at birth' thing is, I'm fine. It feels as if I'm being punked.”

“Punked?”

“It's a television show, and I can hear the hook—‘Aspiring actress college student has been sent back in time, a time before electricity and cars, where people live off the land. Will she adapt or go insane?' ” Skylar set the mug on the table. “I'm leaning toward insane. You?”

She sounded every bit as apathetic as she was sarcastic, and once again Lovina looked to Isaac. His eyes were glued to the table, probably trying to keep from lecturing Skylar. Lovina couldn't let the awkward silence settle into nothingness. “There's no chance of going insane. People are built to adjust to their surroundings. But I also don't think you are, as you said,
fine.
”

Skylar set down her coffee. “How would you know how I feel?”

Her tone bothered Lovina. It wasn't accusatory. Her question was more like an observation.

Lovina put her hands in her lap and clutched them, holding tight. “This is a tough situation, and no one expects you to be happy, but you seem particularly unhappy, and we thought you might have a couple of suggestions for ways we could help.”

“Maybe seeming unhappy is my personality. You don't really know me well enough to have a clue, do you?”

What could be done to break through her defenses, her apathy? “So what would you like to see happen between us—parents and daughter—while you're here?” Would reminding her they were her parents help her
want
to try?

“ ‘See happen'? You mean other than being allowed to return to the twenty-first century and attend college?” Skylar took a bite of her biscuit.

“I meant relationshipwise.” Lovina couldn't keep her hands still. “This is our chance to get to know one another. We don't want it to feel like a punishment.”

Skylar took another bite of biscuit. “I don't know what else to call it. I was given the choice of rehab or living here. Quill talked me into coming here, and I thought it would be better than rehab. For the record, it's not.”

If this young woman weren't their daughter, Lovina would be tempted to show her the door.

Isaac shot his wife a look. “You see being here and doing chores as a punishment, but our only wish is to get to know you.”

“That is just so shady.”

Lovina wondered if Skylar thought they didn't know she was calling them liars.

Isaac sat up straighter, his face taut. “Why?”

“You're not trying to get to know me. Nobody here cares who I am, which is fine. But be honest about it. You want to use me as another worker. When I arrived, I wondered why anyone would have this many children. Now I know.”

Isaac closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “That's not true, but, more important, what's your point for saying those things? Do you need to vent, or do you hope to keep pushing us away?”

Skylar blinked, and her guard seemed to drop momentarily, as if she was shocked that Isaac had pinpointed her desire to keep them at bay.

What would this relationship be like if they hadn't missed out on her childhood: seeing her blow out candles on her birthday cake, watching her clap and beam with excitement over dozens of things each month, kissing a scraped knee to make it better, walking with her to her first day of school, greeting her with homemade snacks when she came home, helping with homework, having daily devotions. But Lovina was never given that opportunity, and she feared Skylar would never want to have anything to do with her.

Skylar raised an eyebrow. “Don't you already have a daughter my exact age?”

Was Skylar being aloof and difficult because she thought they had no room in their hearts for her? Lovina had so many unanswered questions. If they didn't understand Skylar, they wouldn't be able to find a way into her heart.

“We have other daughters. That's true,” Lovina said. “But each one is equally valuable and means the world to us. We would do anything to help them, and that focus is especially directed at our third daughter right now.”

Skylar flinched at the words “third daughter.” An awkward silence filled the room. “Don't you think referring to me as your third daughter might strain your relationship with Ariana?”

Lovina had practically thrown out Ariana for the chance to make sure Skylar knew God. Clearly she couldn't undo how swiftly she'd pursued connecting with Skylar. And Ariana would always be her daughter, but would she see it that way? “Love is weird. Its boundaries are able to expand, and each time that happens, it brings unexpected joys. Gifts from God.”

Skylar's light brown eyes held suspicion. “All the joy of having a bouncing baby girl was centered on Ariana…for twenty years. I arrived too late to that party, and it's over. If you think otherwise—”

“Skylar.” Isaac leaned in. “You're right that opportunities have been missed, and we're strangers for now. There will be a learning curve for us to connect this many years later, but we'd like for you to give us a chance.”

Lovina shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Ariana will always be our daughter, just as you will always be your parents' daughter.”

“Yeah,
that's
the sentiment.”

“What do you mean?” Isaac asked.

It was becoming clear that Skylar didn't show much emotion. She just nonchalantly spoke in a sarcastic tone. “My mom was weary of trying to make me better, and my dad was all too grateful to have a new daughter.”

Lovina ached to touch her daughter—to hold her hand or place a hand on her shoulder—but she didn't reach out. “I'm sure—”

“It's okay. I'm not complaining. Or looking for sympathy.”

Was that true? Were Brandi and Nicholas worn out from trying to raise Skylar? “Look, we know this isn't an ideal situation, but—”

“That's a bit of an understatement.”

“Regardless of how awkward and unpleasant this situation is, God can cause it to benefit all of us.” Would Lovina regret talking about God to someone who didn't wish to hear about Him? “You can talk to us about any struggles.” Was that true? What did they know of the kind of issues Skylar was dealing with?