behavior—”
His sentence was cut short as several people interrupted. They began talking at once, denying the need for apologies.
Nathan held up a hand. “Hold on there. I came here critical and judgmental of your ways. That’s inexcusable, whether this is a grief therapy session or not.” He crossed his legs at the ankles and leaned back in his chair. “Truth is, I was angry—mostly with God, because He chose to call home my wife, who hadn’t had a chance to live yet. I was also mad at myself for being so fired up about having kids. And I was mad at the world. With so many nasty people out there, many of them delivering healthy babies every day, why should my sweet Ruth be the one to die?”
He didn’t meet anyone’s gaze, but he noticed several heads nodding in agreement. “But dwelling on all that wasn’t helping me become a good father. I was raised better than to take out my anger on folks just trying to help. Lots of you are on the right track, and I’ve been giving things you said some thought. Anyway, I’m sorry to have stormed out like I had a bee up my pant leg.”
Everyone laughed again, while Bob boomed out a loud, “Apology accepted.”
Patricia stood up. “Because Nathan came in his buggy, he can’t stay for the entire session. Why don’t we go around the circle so each of us can bring him up to date on the progress we’ve made.”
“I’ll serve coffee and dessert now so Nathan doesn’t miss my new recipe for pineapple upside down cake,” said Carol, bustling into the kitchen.
Nathan relaxed, listening to his fellow mourners describe recent triumphs in their daily lives. Bob had decided to take his children and grandchildren to see the Great Wall of China.
The third male participant had made a contribution to Alcoholics Anonymous in his late brother’s name.
The abused sister took a bouquet of flowers and a lawn chair to the cemetery. She enjoyed a long chat with her sibling to clear away past anger and bitterness.
And the young mother and her husband were attending family counseling to become better parents.
Nathan offered encouragement to each one. When it was his turn to speak, he said simply, “I asked God for forgiveness, and I believe He has given it. I’m returning to church services this Sunday.”
“Churches aren’t just for the saints,” said Bob. “They’re for us sinners too or they would be mighty empty.”
Nathan had never heard it put quite like that but couldn’t disagree. He enjoyed the pineapple upside down cake along with the camaraderie of the Englischers. Mrs. Baker packed up an extra piece of cake for him to take home. When he and his son were leaving, everyone encouraged him to stay in touch and return to meetings whenever he could. He said he would try, but in his heart he knew he wouldn’t be back. Talking therapy worked fine for some people, but for others, quiet time on the back porch with the Good Book worked even better. He prayed for each of the people he’d come to know that they would fine peace and solace.
He had one more task to complete on his own road to healing. After he rubbed down and turned his horse out to pasture and put his sleeping son to bed, he turned up the kerosene lamp on the kitchen table. Taking paper and pen from the drawer, along with the address he’d received from Mrs. Daly weeks ago, he began to write one long overdue letter.
Abby sat at the kitchen table, savoring her third cup of coffee. In the several days since she’d been home, this was her first time alone. Either Jake or Laura tagged behind asking her endless questions, or Daniel hovered nearby trying to get her to eat more, or Catherine filled her in on everything that had happened on the farm or in their district while she’d been away.
Finally, their lives were returning to normal. Because the new school year had started, she had walked Laura to school that morning and then left Jake at the neighbors’ for a few hours so he could play with their boys. Daniel and Isaiah were cutting firewood in the hills to get a head start on winter. And Catherine was sewing up in her room by the window. Abby worried about her sister. Her effervescent personality had turned melancholy. If she felt reluctant to move back home, Abby intended to insist that she