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Lorie's Heart

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

Lorie Kauffman's black walking shoes squeaked against the overly waxed tile floor as she made her way down the long corridor. One arm was wrapped around her stepmother, Maddie. Her mamm pulled her close, neither one of them ready for the task before them. In truth, Lorie wanted nothing more than to turn and run from the coroner's office as fast as she could. As far as her feet would carry her.

The doctor walked in front of them, slower than she wanted, faster than she could take. He didn't say a word as he led them into the cold, sterile room. It was so different than anything Lorie had ever seen. Stainless steel and buzzing lights.

Only the squeak of their shoes could be heard as he led them to a wall that appeared to be a large filing-type cabinet. It was a little like the one her father kept in his office at the restaurant, except this one took up the entire wall.

She randomly wondered how the doctor knew which drawer to pull out. But he did.

The drawer opened, the body inside covered with a plain white sheet.

Mamm squeezed Lorie's hand so hard her fingers started to tingle. Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched the doctor fold back the sheet to reveal the lifeless face of her father.

With a gasp, Mamm turned away, only briefly looking at the man she had been married to for as long as Lorie could remember. But Lorie herself couldn't tear her gaze away. Her eyes were transfixed, as if by staring at him long enough she could somehow bring him back to life. She took in his wavy brown hair, normally so carefree, now pushed unnaturally back from his face. His beard matched in color, with only a few streaks of gray in the chest-length strands. Gone was the sweet smile that graced his lips. His eyes, normally the color of the afternoon sky, were closed, still behind their lids.

A cut slashed across his temple, the skin surrounding it dark. It was the only mark to testify that he'd been in an accident. A freak injury, they called it, that caused his brain to die when his body was still able to function. One tiny cut that ended his life.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the coroner said. Lorie wondered how he did it. How he worked day in and day out with crying, grieving families.

Beside her, Lorie heard Mamm stifle a sob. Typical Amish, Mamm tried to hide her feelings. The only emotion she readily shared was her displeasure. Lorie pushed away the uncharitable thought. She would pray about it later, but for now all she could do was ignore the twinge in her gut and focus on what remained of her father.

"Jah," Mamm finally said. "That is my husband."

From the corner of her eye Lorie saw the man nod, then he started to pull the sheet back over her father's face.

Her hand flew up of its own accord to stop him. She wasn't ready yet. She wasn't ready to say good-bye, to have him covered and locked away from her forever.

A tickle twinged at her cheeks, and she wiped at it with her fingers, surprised to find them damp with tears.

"Lorie?" Mamm asked.

"Not yet," Lorie whispered in return. "Just a little while longer." She had to look all she could. What if she forgot his face as time passed? That happened with her own mamm. Her mother had died and over the years Lorie had forgotten her face. Since photographs were against the Ordnung, there were none to remind her. She couldn't let that happen to her dat as well.

"Lorie." Mamm tugged on her hand, but Lorie resisted. She needed to get one last look at him to hold in her heart. The strong slant of his jaw, the straight line of his nose, the mark just above his heart.

She blinked. It couldn't be. It went against everything the Ordnung stood for, the Bible, and all that God wanted for his people. Yet there it was, penned just above where his heart once beat. Another heart. This one had wings on each side and a name in such intricate letters she almost couldn't make it out. May not have been able to had the name not been as familiar to her as her own. Belinda.

That was her mother's name. Her mother who had died so long ago.

"Kumm." Mamm tugged on her hand, pulling Lorie away from her father as the doctor covered him again. But it didn't change anything. The mark was still there. The heart, the wings, the name.

Her father had a tattoo.

In the days that followed Lorie didn't have much time to think about the tattoo, yet it was never far from her thoughts. There were preparations to be made. A coffin to be bought, a funeral to be planned. A father and husband to be laid to rest. A life to go on living.

The police had given them a box of things that had been found in her father's car. How did her father have a car? He was Amish!

When they arrived back in Wells Landing, Mamm had taken the box to the storage room above the restaurant. She taped the box shut and dusted her hands as if a dirty job had been completed. Lorie itched to climb the stairs and go through the box. What other secrets were hiding there?

She scanned the dining area of the restaurant. They had closed today in honor of her father. Maddie had wanted everyone to gather there to pay their last respects, eat, and otherwise spend time talking about Henry Kauffman. More than half the town had shown up to say good-bye to her father. He was nothing if not loved and admired by his community.

But there were too many people. More than Lorie could easily handle. Of course some of the mourners were Englischers that her father had worked with over the years. They didn't know a person needed to be invited to the funeral and had just shown up instead. Thankfully there was enough food to go around. But not enough room in the restaurant for the crowd and her own grief.

She glanced over to where her stepmother sat, tissue in hand as she talked with Helen Ebersol, the bishop's wife. The few remaining people at Kauffman's were starting to clean up the mess left behind from the wake. Paper cups and plates were tossed in the trash. Empty aluminum casserole pans disposed of as well. So much needed to be done that Lorie was overwhelmed with the prospect of doing anything at all.

"Lorie?" Emily Riehl grabbed Lorie's hand and squeezed.

Lorie shot her a watery smile and returned the reassuring clasp. She and Emily had been friends for as long as Lorie could remember, though so much had changed over the last couple of years. Their other close friend, Caroline Fitch, just had a new baby, a sweet baby boy they named Hollis after Caroline's father. Emily herself had just last fall married Elam Riehl. Now this.

"You want to talk about it?" Emily asked.

She shook her head. There wasn't anything left to talk about.

Emily glanced over to where Lorie's mamm talked with her own mother. "Not your vatter," she whispered. "But whatever else is bothering you."

Lorie attempted another smile. "Why would something else be bothering me?"

"You and I have been friends ever since first grade. Do you honestly believe that I cannot tell when something is on your mind?"

Lorie thought about protesting again, but Emily was tenacious as a bulldog. If she felt something needed to be done, she held on until it was complete. Lorie had no cause to believe that this would be any different.

She cast another glance back toward her stepmother and hooked her arm through Emily's. "Can you walk to the park with me?" She needed some fresh air, a new perspective, her father back.

"Jah. Of course."

Lorie didn't bother to tell Mamm where she was going. She just pushed out of the restaurant with Emily close behind.

"Where's Elam?" Lorie asked once they were out on the sidewalk. The fresh air didn't help. She still felt as bereft as she had before. This time maybe more so since the bright, cheery sun seemed to mock her very being.

"I sent him home, so we could talk. I had a feeling …"

Lorie nodded as they crossed the street to sit in the park directly across from Esther's bakery. Had it only been two years ago since she had sat here with her friends enjoying the beautiful spring day when Andrew Fitch pulled up on his uncle's tractor? It seemed like yesterday and forever ago at the same time.

They sat on the swings, pushing themselves with their feet. The wind stirred the untied strings on her prayer kapp. Lorie pushed them over her shoulders wishing for the umpteenth time that she could just cut them off. But that was a sign of rebellion, and Emily's father, Bishop Cephas Ebersol, would never allow that in his district. The last thing she needed right now was trouble with the bishop. Not after ...

"My father has ... had a tattoo." Would she ever stop referring to him in present tense?

"He what?" To Emily's credit she didn't raise her voice, didn't drop her chin in surprise or any of the other shocked reactions that Lorie had been expecting.

"I saw it when we went to the coroner's office to, uh, you know."

Emily nodded. "Are you sure?"

There was nothing else it could be. "I'm sure."

They sat there in the warm summer sun, not speaking, just being.

Then Emily said, "We all make mistakes, Lorie."

"I know," she whispered in return.

"Do you want me to talk to my dat? Maybe he can give you some peace about the matter."

But it wasn't peace she needed. Answers, that was what she wanted. "I'm not worried about his soul, if that's what you mean." And most people would be.

"Maybe he did this on his rumspringa."

That had been Lorie's first thought, too. But she had heard the story of how her parents had met and fallen in love. Though her father had never come right out and said that it was after he joined the church, she knew he had been well past his run-around years.

"It's a heart," she said. "With an angel's wings. And my mother's name."

"He must have loved her very much," Emily said.

Lorie nodded. Her father had never said as much to her, but any time she asked him a question about her mother, his eyes would light up, Mamm's frown would grow a little deeper, and things around the Kauffman household would become tense. "I know he did." She stared off into the distance. "I don't think Maddie ever forgave him for that."

"For loving your mamm?" Emily asked.

"I know it sounds dumb, but it's just a feeling, you know?"

"Sometimes there is only one love in a lifetime," Emily said.

Lorie smiled at her friend. If anyone knew about the unpredictability of love, it was Emily Riehl. She had loved Luke Lambright her entire life, only to realize the love wasn't real. Luke left the Amish to join the fast-paced world of stockcar racing while Emily had stayed behind in Wells Landing and fallen truly in love with Elam Riehl. "Maybe," she said. "But—"

"But what?" Emily asked.

"I think he got the tattoo after my mamm died. He would have been around thirty years old."

"What does that matter truly?" Emily shrugged. "That is between him and God, don't you think?"

"Jah," Lorie said, pleating her fingers in the material of her apron. She was already tired of wearing black. "But what if there's more to it than that?"

A frown pulled at Emily's brow. "What do you mean?"

"I feel like there's so much of his life that I didn't know about." More than the cook who ran a tight kitchen, who made regular trips through the restaurant greeting his guests and checking on their meals. More than the man who loved his family and always had a smile on his face no matter what the day handed him.

"Of course there is," Emily exclaimed. "Are you sure you just haven't realized that your father was a person aside from being your father?"

Lorie shook her head. "It's more than that. I don't know how I know, but—"

Emily took Lorie's hand into her own, stopping the gentle sway of their swings. "Listen to me," she started, her voice soft, but threaded with steel. "Give yourself time to grieve before you do anything."

"I'm fine," she lied. What else could she say?

"Lorie." At Emily's stern tone, Lorie turned to face her friend. "You've got that look in your eyes."

"I just want to know," she whispered. "How could Maddie have not seen it?" She had called her Mamm for the last twenty years, but now there was a chasm between them, bigger than before. She and her stepmother had never been very close, but this tore the fragile trust apart.

Emily sighed. "Okay," she finally said. "She had to know it was there."

"Then they were both keeping secrets." Lorie studied her fingernails. She couldn't bring herself to tell her friend the rest, about the box of his possessions hidden away in the storeroom. About the car the police found and claimed belonged to her father. "Why?"

"I wish I had an answer for you."

The birds in the trees chirped to one another even though they were in the middle of town. From the street came the clop of horse hooves against the pavement, the purr of the car engines as they drove by. That was Wells Landing, a perfect blend of city and country, of Amish and Englisch. One of the reasons she loved it so much.

But everything seemed a little dim today, dull, as if the sparkle had gone out of the world. Was that just the pain of losing her father? Or did it have more to do with the secrets he kept?

"Promise me," Emily said. "Promise me you won't do anything for a while. Give yourself a chance to heal before you start digging around. There may be truths that you don't want to know."

That was exactly what she was afraid of, but now that she knew what she did, how could she ever go back?

"Can I talk to you for a bit?" Lorie slid into the booth opposite her mamm. It had been nearly a week since the funeral. A week of sleepless nights and exhausting days of learning to get along without her father.

She reached for the stack of napkins. In the restaurant business, there was no such thing as downtime. Something always needed to be done. Lorie started rolling the flatware in the paper napkins like she had been taught when she was eight years old.

"Jah, of course," Mamm said. Her mouth turned up at the corners, but still managed to look more like a frown than a smile.

Lorie stopped rolling silverware and instead started to tear little pieces from the napkin in her hands. "I think we should talk about the tattoo."

Mamm shook her head. "I don't."

"So you did know it was there." A small part of her had hoped that by some miracle, her mamm didn't know about the mark on her father's chest.

Maddie shot her a look, but continued to roll the silverware.

"Did you ever ask him about it?"

Mamm took a deep breath, Lorie was sure to remind her that she had said she didn't want to talk about the tattoo. Instead she slowly released it. "Jah. He told me he got it during his rumspringa."

Lorie shook her head before Maddie even finished. "That's impossible, and you and I both know it. He owned a car, Mamm. A car."

Maddie slammed the last rolled bundle of flatware into the large gray tub they used for storage. Her lips were pressed even tighter than usual, her eyes shooting sparks like the firecrackers on July Fourth. "He got the tattoo on his rumspringa, and that's all there is to say about it." Maddie's words held such conviction Lorie wondered if she was trying to convince Lorie or herself.

"But—"

Maddie stood, towering over Lorie, a frowning menace in head-to-toe black. "We will not speak of this again." She picked up the tray of utensils and marched toward the waitress station.

Lorie watched her go, feeling defeated and worn. So many unanswered questions floated around in her head. So many secrets kept for so many years.

"What did you say to Mamm?" Melanie slid into the booth opposite Lorie, her blue eyes searching.

"Nothing. It's just hard right now." She did her best to smile at her sister. In all actuality Melanie Kauffman was her half sister, though Lorie had never felt that way before. What was happening to her?

Grief, Emily would say. She was probably right.

"I know," Melanie said with a nod. "It's hard when I miss him so."

Lorie blinked back the tears welling in her eyes and squeezed Melanie's hand. Their father's death had been hard on them all. Mamm wanted Melanie to postpone her wedding since she was now in mourning. Melanie was heartbroken over the decision, but Lorie knew she wouldn't go against their mudder's wishes.

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Excerpted from Lorie's Heart by Amy Lillard. Copyright © 2015 Amy Lillard. Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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