Part 19 (1/2)

”No, bambina. I need that dye right now. Before she comes in. Louisa understands. S? Comprendes?”

I nodded. I comprehended completely.

”Oh, Louisa, I come back soon to finish up.” And off she hurried to Ibsen's store.

As Ramon watched her disappear, he whipped out his scissors to straighten my cut. ”I'm sorry, Louisa. She means well, but I have got to get the scissors away from her.”

”Maybe she'll stay home when the baby comes.”

”She says she wants to bring the baby to work!” he rued.

”Ramon, have you ever thought of having her open a restaurant? Copper Springs doesn't really have a decent place to eat.”

”That could be an interesting idea,” he said, frowning, as he examined the back of my head.

By the time Rosita returned from the store with hair dye #10, my new hairstyle was greatly improved, and my countenance brightened considerably.

”Oh, see, I told you that it would be perfect!” she said, not realizing that her husband repaired her damage.

I jumped up when I saw her pick up a pair of scissors, eyeing my edges. ”It's wonderful, Rosita! I think it's fine just the way it is.” I hugged her goodbye and promised to keep in touch and that I would be back to see her new baby. Then, feeling quivery, I left before I started to cry.

Not today, I told myself. I needed to keep my feelings under control today.

I walked up to the parsonage and stopped at my Victory Garden. Even though it was too hot to grow much of anything now, it still showed signs of glory. The second year in a garden was always better than the first. I hoped Miss Gordon would try and care for it, but I doubted it. Her artistic sense was not noticeably developed. She was in the backyard unclipping the laundry she had earlier hung to dry, so I went over to help her finish.

”I see Rosita finally had her way with your hair.” She eyed my new haircut with disapproval.

”Should I get William down from the tree house so he can eat his lunch? We need to be at Mrs. Morgan's before too long,” I said.

”There's time enough.”

As the last towel went into the basket, I said, ”Miss Gordon, I want you to know how grateful I am for the hospitality you've given me for the last year and a half.”

She didn't respond. We walked into the kitchen for relief from the glaring sun. She put the basket on the floor and inhaled deeply. ”Answer me one thing, Louisa.”

I looked at her, curious. I think it might be the first question she had ever asked me.

”Why are you so all fired sure you need to go back to Germany?”

That wasn't hard to answer. ”Because I believe G.o.d wants me to return.”

”Seems to me there's some other reason.”

Puzzled, I tilted my head at her. ”What do you mean?”

”Seems to me you feel as if you owe G.o.d something for saving your own backside and getting you out of there.”

I looked down at the laundry. ”Would that be so wrong? To feel an obligation to G.o.d?”

”Not if it's for the right reasons. I'm just not so sure about yours'.”

”It's just that...it's just that...I do owe G.o.d something.” I went to the kitchen window and looked outside. ”I have to prove it to Him.”

”Prove what?” asked Robert, hurrying down the stairs into the kitchen. I had noticed the Hudson parked in the driveway but a.s.sumed Robert was in his office. ”Louisa, what do you have to prove to G.o.d?”

”Prove that...,” I turned and looked at him. ”I have to prove He didn't make a mistake.”

”What mistake?” he persisted. ”What kind of mistake could G.o.d have made that you feel you need to prove something to Him?”

I couldn't get the words out. From deep inside of me came a profound emotion, something I had buried long ago from the daylight and only seemed to rise up when I had a nightmare. It felt like a dam had broken and emotion poured forth. I couldn't hold it back any longer. ”Saving me,” I choked.

”Why should I have been allowed to survive when so many people have lost their lives? It isn't right! It isn't fair! Miss Gordon, that day in the diner, you said everyone I knew was dead or arrested! You were right! Everyone! Every family member. Every friend. Every neighbor. They're gone! Gone! Can you imagine? If the entire town of Copper Springs, all of the people you've known and cared about your entire life, if they were suddenly gone, arrested or killed by a mad man?”

I sat down at the kitchen table and put my head in my hands. ”Don't you understand?” I cried out in frustration. ”I never should have left Germany! I should be dead or arrested just like the others. Like Dietrich. He is the one who should be here. Not me. Don't you see? He's the one with so much to give to the world. And there are so many others just like him. I have to go back and prove to G.o.d He didn't make a mistake. I have to go back and make my life count for something!”

Then I buried my head down on my crossed arms, too deeply into crying to stop. I don't remember crying so long or so hard in my life since my father's death. The kitchen table had probably never witnessed such a torrent of unrestrained emotion before, certainly not in the Gordon household.

Miss Gordon slipped upstairs, no doubt grateful to get away from my dramatic outpouring of sentiment. Her feelings were just like the bun in her hair-tightly wrapped up and pinned into place.

Robert sat down next to me, waiting, stroking my hair a few times. Then, after I had no more tears to shed, all he said was, ”G.o.d has His reasons, Louisa. There are many things we'll never understand this side of eternity.”

I looked at him through a blur of tears. ”That's just too simple an answer.”

He went over to a kitchen cupboard and pulled out Miss Gordon's Bible, opening it to the sixteenth chapter of the book of Proverbs as he sat back down next to me. ”The Lord hath made all things for himself, yea, even the wicked for the day of evil.” Then, he said, ”Even the day of evil, Louisa. Even that is under His control.”

He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped my tear-stained face. ”There's something I want you to think about. I don't even want an answer right now. Just think about it. Pray about it.”

I looked up at him, wondering what he was going to say.

He cupped my face in his hands, looked me right in the eyes and asked in a voice of great tenderness, ”what makes you so sure your life doesn't count right here?” Then he left the kitchen.

I stayed at the table for a while longer, completely spent. Finally, I stood up and gazed out the kitchen door window at the church. I felt a pull toward the church from deep inside. I knew the sanctuary would be empty.

I loved to be in a church-any church-when it was empty. It felt sacred, and even though I knew it didn't matter where I prayed, somehow I felt as if I had G.o.d's ear when I knelt in prayer in church. I walked over to it, opened the door, and sank into a pew.

I didn't know how much time had pa.s.sed when someone put a hand on my shoulder; I flinched in surprise. I had been so lost in my misery I hadn't heard anyone come in. It was Herr Mueller.

”May I join you, Frulein?” he asked, blocking the pew.

”I was just leaving.”

”Nonsense. You just arrived.”

How long had he been watching me?

”A moment of your time, bitte. I have just learned something quite interesting. There was a young woman who disappeared in Berlin a while ago. Just like that. Vanished.” He snapped his fingers. ”Just a few weeks before you arrived in Copper Springs.”