She hadn’t even come when Mamm died. It was all very well to justify it in her mind—happening as it did just when Gracie was born, when Jannie was dying. But Daad might not . . .
Myra touched her hand gently. “Don’t worry so.”
She tried to smile, but the effort failed. “I can’t help it. If only Daad will see me, I’ll tell him how sorry I am. I’ll tell him—”
But what could she say? Back in Chicago, coming here had seemed a simple solution to the nightmare that surrounded her. She would come home and disappear into the tightly knit Amish community where Gracie would be safe. She hadn’t thought enough about what it would mean both to her and to the family.
“Joseph will do a gut job of telling him.” Myra patted her hand. “You can count on him.”
Myra had always thought the sun rose and set on her young husband. Anna loved him, too, but she had a more realistic picture of Joseph’s ability to communicate such difficult news.
She heard the clop of the horse’s hooves in the lane, the creak of the buggy. Drying her hands twice over, she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Joseph would have done his best, but what if it wasn’t enough? What if Daad wouldn’t see her?
The door opened. Joseph came in, his face impassive, and she took an impulsive step toward him.
“What did he say?” Her heart was in her throat.
“Ask him yourself.” He stepped aside, and she saw that Daadi was behind him.
“Daadi . . .” Her voice caught on the words, her mouth dry. “I’m sorry . . .”
Before she could get anything else out, her father had crossed the kitchen in a few long strides and swept her into his arms.
She couldn’t have spoken then, not for anything. Her tears spilled over, wetting the soft cotton of his shirt, and she let them fall.
Strong arms around her, comforting her, just as Daadi had held her the time she’d fallen from the apple tree when one of the boys had dared her to climb higher. She’d broken her arm, and her next older brother, Mahlon, had earned a whipping for such a foolish dare.
Daadi had held her then, letting her cry, while Mammi ran for something to immobilize the arm. His shirt had felt as it did now—soft and warm against her cheek, smelling of the clean fresh air that had dried it.
She wasn’t six any longer. She shouldn’t weep on her father’s chest. But it was so comforting to feel the safety and security of that embrace that she didn’t want to let go.
“Ach, it’s all right.” His voice was husky. “Don’t cry anymore, little one. It’s wonderful gut to have you here again at last.”
The love and forgiveness in his voice threatened to bring on another bout of crying, but she stifled it. She drew back, wiping her eyes with her hands.
“I’m sorry—” she began again, but he silenced her with a shake of his head.
“Enough of that,” he said. “I must meet my new little grandchild.”
Fighting for control, she nodded to where Gracie sat on the floor. Daad’s eyes misted, his mouth trembling just a little above the beard that was nearly all white now. He moved to the children, squatted down.
Sarah threw herself at him, of course, and he hugged and kissed her, greeting her gently.
“So,” he said, once Sarah was satisfied with her share of attention. He extended a hand to Gracie. “This is little Gracie, ja? Wie bist du heit. It’s gut to meet you.”
Gracie stared at him for a moment, her blue eyes round. She reached a chubby baby hand and grasped his white beard.
He chuckled. “Ja, that is real, it is.” He held out his hands to her. “Will you come to me, Gracie?”
She studied him for another moment, as if trying to make a decision. Then she smiled and reached for him. Murmuring something so soft only the baby could hear, Daadi lifted her in his arms, holding her as close as he’d held Anna.
Anna blinked back tears that threatened to overflow again.
Now was the moment
. She should tell Daadi the whole story now. She should trust that when he knew, he’d help her.
But he was bouncing Gracie in his arms, his face filled with love. Joseph and Myra were smiling, arms around each other’s waist as if they had to touch at this moment, too. And emotion she hadn’t anticipated had a stranglehold on her throat.
“We must have some cake and coffee, for soon it will be time to put these little ones to bed.” Myra wiped away a tear and hustled to the stove, lifting the coffeepot. “Komm, Joseph, fetch the applesauce cake from the pantry for me.”
Joseph, with a quick wink at Anna, did as he was told. The moment when she might have spoken was gone.
Maybe that was just as well. She took the plates and forks Myra handed her and began to put them on the table, as swift and smooth as if she were back working in the restaurant again. Sooner or later she must tell Daadi, at least, everything about Gracie.
But later would be better, wouldn’t it, when he’d had a chance to get used to having her here again?
And could she—should she—really tell him everything? Gracie was the important thing. Anna had to be sure of keeping Gracie safe above all, even if it meant putting a barrier between herself and her family.
“Now,” her father said a few minutes later, feeding Gracie a small crumb of applesauce cake, “we must decide where you and the little one are going to live. Joseph, what do you think?”
He was consulting her brother, not her, and making the decision for her as automatically as he’d always done. Once that would have provoked an angry outburst. But she’d learned control during her time away. She couldn’t afford to indulge in emotion now.
Joseph folded his hands and looked at Myra, and she gave a tiny nod. “Anna can stay here.”
“That’s gut of you both.” Daad nodded, as if it was no more than he’d expected. “But Anna and her baby should have the right to move back into her old room at the farm, if she wants.”
Now it was her turn to exchange glances with Joseph. Levi, their oldest brother, and his wife, Barbara, ran the farm with their growing family, while Daadi had moved into the small daadi haus. Living with Levi and Barbara would be like stepping onto a whirling carousel. Dizzying at best, even if she could contrive to keep from getting annoyed with Barbara’s well-meant meddling twenty-five times a day.
“Denke, Daadi, but I think that would make things too crowded for Levi and Barbara.” She glanced at Myra. “If you’re sure . . . With another baby on the way, you might rather have your privacy.”
Something, some faint shadow, crossed Myra’s face, but then she was smiling. “Ja, we’re sure. We have plenty of room.” She reached across the table to squeeze Anna’s hand. “And besides, it will be gut to have a sister in the house again.”
Anna couldn’t speak for the emotion that welled in her. She could only look at the faces around the table, reflected in the mellow glow of the gas lamp above them. Plain faces, filled with love for her.
And she sat here accepting their love, their help, and all the while she was hiding the truth from them.
The
sun had barely finished drying the grass, but Samuel wanted to get in a few minutes’ worth of working the new bay gelding on the lunge line before he started at the machine shop. With the line in one hand and a buggy whip in the other, he started the animal trotting in a wide circle around him.
The field next to the lane gave him a near view of Joseph’s house, making it impossible not to think about Anna’s arrival. And to wonder what had happened when the family found out.
The young horse, distracted by a car going past out on the blacktop road, broke gait, and began to canter. Samuel stopped it and started it again. Patience and repetition—that was what it took to make a gut driving horse.
The screen door banged as Joseph came out on the back porch, saw him, and waved. With both hands occupied, all Samuel could do was nod.
Joseph had certainly been wonderful happy to see his baby sister again. He wasn’t one to hold grudges or dwell on problems. Quick to forgive, forget, and move on. He was sometimes too quick to want unpleasantness over, maybe. Joseph would sure never be the one to ask hard questions.
Forgiveness was part and parcel of Amish life, and usually in a case like this, families welcomed the penitent home with joy. Anna’s situation was more complicated than most, though. She’d come home with a baby.
He frowned, narrowing his eyes against the sun. Something else bothered him about Anna’s attitude. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he’d sensed something. If you’d been through a challenging situation yourself, it seemed to give you an extra measure of understanding and maybe an obligation to help someone else going through it.
He backed away from that unwelcome thought. Anna had plenty of family to assist her through this difficult time, to say nothing of Bishop Mose and the rest of the community.
Elias Beiler had come to the house last night with Joseph, not that Samuel had been spying on his neighbors. He’d been in the midst of scraping tractor-patterned wallpaper off the walls of the bedroom that faced Joseph’s place, and the windows had given him a clear view.
He’d just been thinking it was a bit of a shame he’d had to get rid of those tractors, put up by the elderly couple who’d sold him the house. They’d wanted to make the room special when their grandsons came to stay. He’d glanced out the window and seen Joseph’s buggy pull up the lane, and recognized Elias sitting next to him.
So that was all right. If the head of the family accepted Anna and her babe, the rest would as well.
For some reason, the thought of Anna was like a splinter under his skin. He couldn’t forget how she’d looked yesterday—drained and exhausted, with all that sassy cheerfulness wiped off her face.
He knew from his own experience that people didn’t find it easy to shed the outside world. Anna had been gone three years. She’d had a child. That was very different from the usual young Amish male taking off for a few months or a year, with the thought always in the back of his mind that he’d come home when he was ready to be baptized, join the church, and marry an Amish girl.
Anna’s experience was not like that, and more different still from his own.
Turning as he gave the command to walk, he saw her. He hadn’t heard her come out, but Anna stood by the fence, the little girl in her arms. She was obviously talking to the child about the horse—something maybe little Grace hadn’t seen in her young life.
He let the gelding walk for another moment or so, gradually drawing in the line so that the circle grew smaller. Finally he stopped him, rubbing his neck and murmuring words of praise in his ear. The bay pricked his ear to listen.
He turned. Anna was still there. Leading the horse, he walked over to her.
“Anna.” He nodded. “Do you think the boppli would like to see the horse up close?”
“What do you think, Gracie?” Her voice was soft with love when she spoke to the child. “Look at the horsey. Do you want to touch him?”
Gracie babbled something that might have been approval, and he moved the horse a bit closer to the fence so that her small hand could touch its mane. The bay gave a little shiver of the skin, as if he’d been brushed by a butterfly.
“You look better today. Not so tired,” he added quickly, thinking Anna might take offense at the comment sounding so personal.
She did stare at him for a second, but then she smiled, a little quirk of the lips that wasn’t very convincing. “I did sleep well last night. And Gracie slept soundly in her borrowed crib, didn’t you, love?”
She tickled the baby, and when Gracie chortled, Anna’s face lit with pleasure, too. For a moment he seemed to see the girl she had been—always alive with emotion, ready to plunge headlong into anything.
“I’d think you could take it easy for a few days, now that you’ve got through the hard part of telling the folks you’re here.”
Her gaze evaded his. “I made peace with Daad, if that’s what you mean. I haven’t seen any of the others yet, except Joseph and Myra.”
“As long as you’re settled with your daad, they’ll all fall in line. You’ll see.”
She lifted her brows, blue eyes sparking a bit. “Is that the voice of experience speaking?”
“I guess it is.” Maybe it was as well to change the subject before she got riled. “Was Joseph all right with where I put the car?”
She nodded. “You know how he is about machinery. He’ll probably be taking it apart before long, just to see if he can figure out what’s wrong.”
“Ja, that’s for sure. Joseph never met a machine he didn’t like.”
“I see you’re still as attached to horses as you used to be.” She patted the gelding’s neck. “I thought you said you were working with Joseph in the shop.”
“I am. The horses are just a little sideline. Somehow folks got the idea that I have a gift with unruly beasts. So they bring all their troublesome ones to me.”
“You always had that talent. You helped my daad with that mare that tried to kick the buggy to pieces, and you were probably only about fourteen at the time.”
He grinned, surprised she remembered. That day was still clear in his own thoughts, because it was the day he’d recognized his gift.
He’d been over at the Beiler place for some reason, had seen Elias putting the new horse between the shafts, Anna watching him. No sooner had Elias turned his head than the silly beast went crazy, rearing and kicking so fierce no one could get near him.
He hadn’t stopped to think, just grabbed the horse’s head and held on, talking softly all the time. He’d gotten a few bruised ribs for his trouble, but he’d calmed the animal down. He could still see Anna’s shocked, scared face.
“I think that was the day I figured out soft words worked on horses, especially when they’re trouble.”
“This one doesn’t look like trouble. He’s a beauty.” She rubbed the gelding’s face, and he blew gently at her hand, accepting the praise.