A Time To Love (2 page)

There was a knock on the door. "Come in," she called.

The door opened and her grandmother peeked around it. "I heard you moving about."

She smiled. "Yes.
Guder mariye, Grossmudder."

Phoebe's austere face brightened. "You remember some of the language?"

"Some."

Jenny found it interesting she could remember even though she struggled to find the right word in English right now. She held out her arms and her grandmother rushed to embrace her. They sat on the bed, wiping away tears.

"You got it," Phoebe said, looking at the quilt that covered Jenny.

Jenny's fingers stroked it. "I woke up in the hospital and it was tucked around me," she said quietly. "I said your name before I could say mine."

Phoebe's lined face crumpled, and she bent her head, searching in the pocket of her dark dress for a handkerchief.

"God brought you through it." She wiped at her tears and straightened her shoulders. "There is no place He is not."

I'd been in the valley of death,
thought Jenny. She knew how close she had come. Maybe one day she could tell her grandmother how she had seen her grandfather and her parents shortly after she'd been injured. Jenny hadn't been particularly religious before, but she had to admit that her near-death experience had made her look at her life—what was left of what had been her life—in a new way.

A note had arrived with the quilt, a nurse had told her. She gave it to Jenny and then had had to read it because the head injury had left a lingering problem with double vision.

The words inside had been simple and direct: "Come. Heal."It had been signed "Your
grossmudder,
Phoebe."

Jenny studied her now. Phoebe's face was more lined and the strands of hair that escaped her
kapp
had more silver. But somehow she didn't seem any older than the last time Jenny had visited.

"You didn't come for so long after I wrote that I didn't think you would."

"I was doing physical therapy."

"David told me. He's a good man."

Jenny smiled briefly and then looked at the window. It was starting to snow. "I should get up and say good-bye so he can get on the road. I don't want him to get caught in a snowstorm."

"It's time to get up," Phoebe agreed, standing and lifting the quilt away from Jenny. "But he left last night."

"Left? Without saying goodbye?"

"There's a note for you. He spoke of something called 'e-mail' that's in a computer?"

Her lined face lit briefly with a smile. "I asked him if the machine he brought with your things ran on sunlight. He'd forgotten we have no electricity."

Jenny's lips curved. "A solar battery, hmm? Good idea but mine doesn't have one. And that would still leave the problem of how to access the Internet."

"
Internet?"

"Don't ask me to explain how it works," Jenny told her, sitting on the side of the bed. "I interviewed someone about it once, but it's still a mystery to me."

She sighed. "I haven't had time to get a new phone. Maybe that should be first on my to-do list."

Phoebe handed her the cane. "First let's get you up and ready for this day we were given."

A sharp pain shot through Jenny's hip as she got to her feet, and she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning. She stood still for a moment to gear up for her next move. Phoebe held out her hand, work-worn, dry, and warm.

Jenny shook her head. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm stronger than I look. I lead a simple life, but I work hard. You remember from the two summers you came to visit."

Jenny nodded. It had been one reason she had told her father she didn't want to go back. She wanted to stay home, be with her friends and have fun, not work so hard harvesting summer crops and baking bread and scrubbing the kitchen.

And laundry. It was bad enough to have to scoop dirty clothes up and throw them into the washer and dryer back home. At her grandmother's house, laundry was a daylong chore. Who wanted that?

Instead of television there had been singing, and the songs weren't the latest pop hits—no, these were church hymns! It was such a drag, too, to hitch up a buggy instead of jumping into the car and having Dad drive her someplace.

Later, as she'd grown older, she'd regretted her youthful laziness, but it was too late then to visit. She was immersed in college, an internship at a TV station, and then her demanding job that took her everywhere but Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.

Her grandmother was older, a little more bent, but the bright light in her eyes was still there, reminding Jenny of the bird she was named after. And her spare frame looked strong beneath the simple dress and sparkling white apron she wore.

The medication had worn off long ago. Jenny wanted to just sink back into bed, but she couldn't. She needed to get moving. She saw Phoebe glance down and a quiet gasp escaped from her lips.

The pant leg of her sweats had ridden up as she moved to the edge of the bed and stood. The light faded from Phoebe's eyes as she glimpsed the scars that ran down the length of one.

Bending, Jenny pulled the leg of her sweats down to cover them.

"I didn't want to move you too much when we put you to bed," she told Jenny. "So I left your clothes on you." She cocked her head to one side. "Is that what the
Englisch
are wearing these days?"

"When they want something comfortable to relax in," Jenny told her with a grin.

With one hand, she pulled the tunic down over her hips and smoothed its wrinkles.

"Let's get you some breakfast and then you can take a bath and get fresh clothes on."

"Sounds wonderful."

Walking to the kitchen was a major obstacle. Jenny insisted that she needed to walk without her grandmother's help and took the short journey slowly.

"I can't believe David carried me into the house."

"He didn't," said Phoebe, following a step behind.

Jenny stopped and turned to look at Phoebe. "You didn't."

Again there was a ghost of a smile on Phoebe's face. "
Nee.
It was Matthew."

Images flitted through Jenny's mind as she started to navigate the way again. She remembered strong male arms, a deep voice that had sounded comforting when she'd sleepily insisted she could walk.

"Matthew?" she repeated. There was something about that name, but she couldn't quite remember . . . one of the lingering effects of the head injury.

"He lives on the farm next to mine. He came to see if I needed any help."

"And I'm sure David was grateful for his help." She laughed."David is a nice man, but he doesn't lift anything heavier than his wallet."

Wallet. Jenny frowned as she thought about what was going to happen to hers. The network was covering her salary, but how long would it do that? Disability payments would be less whenever they started. She didn't want to dip into her savings, but she knew it might be months before she could go back to work.

And who knew if she'd ever be able to do the overseas reporting she'd become known for?

Her grandmother's kitchen hadn't changed. There were simple counters and wooden cupboards, practical pottery bowls set on a shelf. A propane stove filled the room with warmth, and the scent coming from its oven promised something delicious would emerge soon. A hand-carved wooden table was big enough to seat an army. Jenny sank into one of its wooden chairs.

Jenny hadn't had much appetite for a long time, but her mouth watered when she smelled the bread baking and the coffee. Oh, the scent of the coffee!

Her grandmother sliced a loaf that had just been pulled from the oven a few minutes before. She placed it on a plate, setting out a bowl of churned butter, wild blueberry preserves, and a dish of hard-boiled eggs.

Jenny bent her head and gave thanks for the meal. When she looked up, Phoebe was smiling.

"I'm glad that you still say your prayers."

"Dad left the Amish, but he didn't forget God," Jenny told her. "We visited a lot of churches until he found the one he liked, but having a spiritual relationship with God was always important in our home."

Phoebe patted her hand. "I know. He wrote me once that he did a year of missionary work in Haiti while you were in college. I just wasn't sure if you remembered God after you left home."

"Oh, I surely did."

As her grandmother turned to stir the soup pot already simmering on the stove, Jenny felt a pang of guilt, remembering how often lately she'd questioned God about what had happened to her—questioned Him about how He could let innocent children suffer as she'd witnessed so often in her work.

There was a knock at the door. Phoebe crossed the room to answer it and greeted a tall man who looked about Jenny's age. The morning light coming in the kitchen window caught at his blond hair when he took off his wide-brimmed black hat and hung it on a wooden peg.

When he removed his winter coat Jenny saw his plain shirt and pants that showed off his muscular physique. His blue eyes sparkled as he greeted her grandmother and then he glanced over at Jenny.

She stared at him, searching her mind for his name when he continued to stare hard at her. He knew her. She could tell it from the way his expression looked hopeful, then disconcerted when she didn't immediately respond.
Why can't I remember his name?

"Jenny, this is Matthew," said Phoebe as she poured his coffee.

She felt so awkward sitting there, painfully aware of the scar on her cheek, of her rumpled sweats.

He pulled out a chair and sat at the table with the air of a guest who was frequent and welcome. His eyes were filled with a quiet, thoughtful intensity. "I thought you might need help this morning," he told Jenny.

"My grandmother said you carried me inside last night. Thank you. But I could have walked."

He smiled. "Perhaps. But you were sleeping so soundly."

Jenny found herself staring at his large, strong hands as he cupped his mug and drank the coffee her grandmother had poured. When Phoebe pushed the plate of bread and preserves toward him, he grinned and took a slice, spreading it thickly with preserves. He bit into the bread with relish.

"Nothing like your bread," he told her.

"I have a loaf in the oven for you," she said.

"
Wunderbar.
I'm going into town. Annie has her appointment. Do you need anything?"

When she shook her head, Matthew turned to Jenny."You?"

"A new back and hip," she wanted to say. But she didn't want to call attention to herself, didn't want to make her grandmother worry. She shifted in her chair, wishing she'd taken her detested pain pills to the kitchen with her. So she shook her head and thanked him again.

"Ah, Matthew, I've thought of something," Phoebe said suddenly."I'll get the money."

"No need to give me money—"

But with her usual spryness, she'd already hurried upstairs for it.

Jenny liked the sound of Matthew's voice. She watched as he took another slice of bread and spread it with more preserves.

"You should try some," he said, pushing the jar toward her.

There was something on the edge of her consciousness, something that tugged and tugged at her memory. The preserves . . . what was it about them that made her think there was a link between the man and her?

She looked up and found him watching her with unusual intensity. It was almost as if he were trying to use telepathy to make her search her memory.

But for what?
she asked herself.
For what?

R
aspberries," said Jenny, then she stopped, shaking her head."No, strawberries." Frustrated, she rubbed her temples. "No, that's not the word."

Tears sprang to her eyes, and her lips trembled. Unable to look at him, she stared at her plate, feeling humiliated. Days like this, she wondered if she would ever get better.

"It'll come," he said quietly. "Don't force it. Give yourself time to heal."

She looked up at him, saw the kindness in his eyes, then looked away. "It's like wires get crossed in my brain and I can't get the right word out."

"Give yourself time to heal," he repeated.

"Easy for you to say," she muttered.

He smiled. "Did you know what my Annie calls them?
Boo
berries."

"Annie?"

"My youngest. She's had some trouble talking."

"It's taking forever." Frustration warred with despair. "I can't go on camera looking like this, talking like this. Having trouble with my memory."

Matthew got up to get more coffee for them. She caught the scent of hay, of horses, of the outdoors. It was a pleasant, familiar smell of man and work.

"You look fine to me," he told her.

Her hand went to her cheek before she could stop herself. She shook her head. "You're just being nice."

"Eat," he said. "You're as tiny as a sparrow. Frail, too."

I've never been described that way,
she thought, stirring her tea. A memory came to her, a cloudy one, of being carried through the cold and dark night. There had been movement and a voice she couldn't quite place and yet she had felt safe.

Looking up, she found he was watching her. "I'm sure I was heavier than a little bird when you carried me in."

He shook his head. "You don't weigh much more than my older daughter Mary." "David could have helped me."

"The
Englischer
wanted to, but he had on city shoes. The walkway was slippery. I feared he'd take a fall and hurt you both."

"You should have woken me. I could have walked," she repeated. Then she bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I must sound ungrateful. Thank you for helping last night."

Matthew nodded. "Sometimes we need to let someone care for us."

He glanced in the direction of her grandmother's bedroom, hesitated, then looked at Jenny. "Phoebe has faith that God is watching over you, but it's good that you came. I think she needs to take care of you."

Her grandmother hurried back then and gave Matthew a list and some money. She insisted on filling a metal thermos with hot chocolate for him and Annie, saying it was a cold morning and they might want a hot drink.

He got to his feet and put on his outdoor things. As he opened the door to leave, he glanced back at Jenny. And then he was gone.

"You haven't eaten much," Phoebe said when she came to sit at the table again.

"Oh, it's not your cooking," Jenny said quickly. "I just haven't had much of an appetite."

Making an effort, Jenny spooned some of the preserves on her bread and bit in. The sweet taste of blueberries flooded her mouth, flooded her memory.

A hot summer day. Her fingers stained blue and dripping juice from picking the bucket of berries in her hand. A young blond man, his eyes as blue as the berries, standing there looking at her and laughing.

Matthew.

And her first kiss, so innocent and so sweet.

No wonder he had looked at her the way he had, as if he wanted her to remember something. She hoped she hadn't hurt his feelings.

Her grandmother was speaking. Jenny pulled herself back from the memories that once started, wouldn't stop. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"You're looking pale. Maybe after breakfast you should lie down on the sofa before the fire."

Her back was aching, and the headache was beginning to be one she couldn't ignore. "I just hate being like this. I want to get back to normal."

"Patience, Jenny. This will take time."

"I wish I had your faith that everything is going to be all right," Jenny said as she walked slowly toward the sofa in the living room.

With a grateful sigh she sank down onto it and smiled as Phoebe pulled a new quilt over her.

"Warm enough?"

Jenny covered her yawn and nodded drowsily. "Wonderful. Thank you. For—for anything." She opened her eyes."Everything."

Phoebe's smile was grave. "I knew what you meant. Rest,
Grossdochder.
Rest, dear one."

Exhaustion weighed down on Jenny like a soft, warm quilt. She slept.

Their eyes.

This was the first thing Jenny noticed on her first visit to the war-torn country. The children were so thin, so listless, their eyes vacant and staring. Mothers held them, their eyes desperate. No words were needed to communicate their fear they'd lose their children before they got them food.

She could barely keep the tears from her voice as she spoke on camera of the plight of the children, the innocent victims of warfare.

Then there was a movement, the cameraman catching her eye as he looked past her, over her shoulder. As the camera moved she glanced in the direction he looked and saw the car hurtling toward them.

Turning back, she screamed a warning and the mothers and children scattered. Then, miraculously, the car stopped just feet from her. A man burst from it and ran.

Instinct made Jenny spin on her heel and run, but she wasn't fast enough. There was a deafening explosion and she felt herself lifted, thrown, and slammed into the ground.

Jenny screamed and woke. Terrified, her heart pounding, she sat up and stared around her.

A man rushed into the room, and she nearly screamed again before she realized it was Matthew.

"Jenny?"

Tears rushed out of her eyes as her fingers clutched at the quilt. She was shaking, shaking so hard she felt she'd fall apart at any moment.

"Bomb!" she whispered.

Matthew knelt beside the sofa and took her hands in his. "Jenny, you're safe. Look at me, Jenny. You are safe. I promise."

Her breath hitching on a sob, she stared at him, her eyes wide with fear.

Her grandmother appeared in the doorway. "Jenny?"

"She's all right," Matthew told her, not taking his eyes from Jenny. "She must have had a bad dream." He pulled the quilt up around her shoulders. "You're here, at your
grossmudder's.
You're safe."

"
Daedi?
Is the lady
allrecht?"

Jenny turned her head at the sound of the childish voice. Phoebe held the hand of a little girl of about four who wore a simple, long navy dress. Her eyes were the same blue as her father's, full of concern like his. Her pink cheeks were rounded, the picture of health and well-being, her blonde hair carefully brushed and drawn into two pigtails. She looked nothing like the children in Jenny's dream.

Gradually, Jenny's racing heart settled down and her breathing evened. "Bad—bad dream."

Her doctors called it post-traumatic stress syndrome. But Jenny doubted either Matthew or Phoebe knew the term or what it meant.

The child watching her with big eyes didn't look like she even knew what a bad dream was. She put her hands on Jenny's cheeks and frowned. "
Fiewer.
Lady has a
fiewer."

Phoebe stepped forward and placed the back of her hand on Jenny's forehead. She frowned. "Jenny, you're awfully warm. Maybe I should get the thermometer."

"I'm just warm from the fire," Jenny said, but she knew it wasn't true. She'd experienced fevers several times since she'd been injured, but they always went away.

Phoebe looked doubtful, but she didn't insist. She turned to Matthew's little girl and took her hand. "Annie, come with me. I baked cookies today."

"I hope I didn't scare her," Jenny said as Phoebe left the room with Annie.

He shook his head and stared at her, his expression sober."Do they come often, these bad dreams?"

She shrugged. "Less often these days. It must have been because I was so tired from traveling."

Annie came back into the room, carefully holding a glass of water. She held it out to Jenny. "Wasser."

Jenny searched for how to say thank you. "
Danki,"
she pronounced carefully and the little girl smiled.

"Annie? Will you come help me put some cookies in a bag for your brother and sister?" Phoebe called from the kitchen.

The child looked at Matthew, and when he nodded, she ran from the room.

"You'll be all right now?" he asked her.

She nodded, avoiding his gaze, and drank some water.

"Jenny? There is no need to be embarrassed."

Lifting her eyes to his, she looked for pity and found none.

"From what your friend said, you have been through a lot."

"David talks too much."

Matthew grinned. "He's a good friend. When you were hurt, he came all the way here to tell Phoebe what had happened."

Wrapped, cocoon-like, in the quilt, Jenny stared at him."He never told me that."

She'd wondered how he'd seemed to know how to get to her grandmother's last night with nothing more than the address. He hadn't used the GPS in the SUV. But David was a terrific investigative reporter. She'd assumed he'd looked it up somehow.

"We'll be going then," Matthew said.

She nodded. "Thank you."

"
Du bischt willkumm."

Getting stiffly to her feet, she walked into the kitchen behind him. He carried his little girl out to the buggy, set her on a seat, then climbed inside.
The Amish love children, and Matthew obviously adores his little girl,
thought Jenny. She smiled as he kissed Annie on the forehead before he tucked a blanket around her.

Jenny stood at the window, watching the buggy roll down the road until she couldn't see it anymore.

When she turned, she saw that her grandmother was watching her.

"What is troubling you, Jenny?"

"I was remembering the last time I saw Matthew. I had a crush on him."

Jenny gazed at the winter-bare landscape, the trees void of leaves, their branches black against the gray sky.
Barren,
she thought,
like me.
She wrapped her arms around her waist, suddenly cold.

Her grandmother touched her shoulder. "Why are you so sad?"

"His little girl is so beautiful."

Phoebe pulled a clean handkerchief from her pocket and gave it to Jenny. She stared at the snowy square, not sure when she'd last seen such a thing. For a moment she didn't know why her grandmother handed it to her, then realized that she had tears on her cheeks.

"Talk to me, tell me what's wrong,
liebschen."

"I don't want to burden you."

"Why should talking burden me?"

Her legs were shaking from standing so long. Jenny walked slowly to a kitchen chair and sat. "You've been so kind to have me stay—"

"I haven't been kind, Jenny. You are my
grossdochder."

"One who hasn't been the best at keeping in touch."

Phoebe's eyes were kind as she spoke. "Sometimes there is distance in families."

Jenny knew she meant more than the physical miles. Once her father had decided not to be baptized when he turned sixteen, he'd left the Amish community and never looked back. He'd only visited after his father died, and then he let Jenny come during those two summers years ago.

"I loved your letters, especially the ones from overseas. You described everything so that I could see it."

Not everything,
thought Jenny. There had been a desire to protect this woman who lived the Plain life, as the Amish called it, from the terrible things she saw over there.

And yet, from the brief time she had visited here, she knew that life in an Amish community wasn't idyllic. Life was still life. Bad things happened, like when a farmer's tractor overturned and crushed him or a hit-and-run driver had killed a little boy walking a country road to school. Matthew's wife had died young; she remembered that Phoebe had written to her that the woman had been a victim of cancer. Not even the best treatment from the local Englisch hospital had been able to save her.

Life was life, after all, wherever it was lived.

"Jenny?" Her grandmother's voice was gentle but determined.

"The doctors say I might not have children. I had infernal—" she stopped, searching for the right word—"internal injuries."

Actually,
she thought bitterly,
I might have gotten the word right the first time.

Phoebe took her hand. "If it's God's will, you'll have them," she said simply.

"You say that a lot." Jenny wiped her eyes. "God's will."

Phoebe squeezed the hand she held. "It's simple but true. Now, eating something warm on this cold day will make you feel better."

"It's lunch already?" Glancing at her watch, Jenny saw that she'd slept nearly four hours.

"
Ya.
Hungry?"

"Not really."

She hadn't thought she was, but when Phoebe lifted the lid of the pot simmering on the stove, she discovered the smell of the vegetable soup was enticing.

"Well, maybe a little."

"A good bowl of hot soup on a cold day," her grandmother said, serving it up with slices of bread.