At Home in Pleasant Valley (55 page)

She tossed the ball across the lawn and watched Sarah run after it, her sturdy little legs pumping. Gracie stood, waving both hands in the air as if she'd fly. Apparently deciding she could go faster crawling, she plopped onto her bottom and sped after her cousin.

“These tomatoes probably look like a bucketful of red balls to them,” Myra said, pouring a pail of tomatoes into the hopper.

Anna shoved the wooden plunger down and began turning the crank. “Wouldn't they have a grand time with them? We once went to a tomato battle . . .” She let that sentence die out.

“You and your friend?” Myra didn't seem bothered by the mention of Anna's life in the English world.

Anna nodded, watching the tomato juice pour out of the squeezer into a bowl. “Jannie and some other friends. It was a tomato festival at the county fairgrounds.”

Liz had gone. And Carl, the boy Anna had dated for a month or two before realizing they had nothing in common other than sitting beside each other in class. Pete had been there for a while, grumbling and complaining.

Then he'd disappeared for an hour and come back, bright and talkative. She should have realized what that meant, but she'd been too naive, and was just glad that Pete wasn't making Jannie miserable any longer.

“And they threw tomatoes at each other?” Myra cleaned the next batch, hands moving quickly as she cut out any bad spots.

“Ja.” Anna smiled, forcing thoughts of Pete and his drug use out of her mind. “Picture a game of eck ball, only with tomatoes.”

Myra giggled. “That sounds like fun. Nobody seems to play eck ball much anymore.”

Eck ball, or corner ball, was a uniquely Amish sport. “Maybe boys don't like getting clobbered with that hard ball.”

“You'd never get me doing it, that's for certain-sure,” Myra said. She glanced at the tomato juice, seeming to measure the amount. “I was thinking I could cook down some sauce and make spaghetti when the family comes on Friday.”

“I seem to recall everyone telling you that you weren't supposed to fix a thing,” Anna said. “This is to be a chance for everyone to visit with Joseph, not to give you extra work.”

“Ach, spaghetti is easy enough, and I know the children like it. Besides, it is Gracie's first birthday we're celebrating, so we have to make cake, too, ja?”

Gracie's birthday. Anna's heart clutched at the thought. “I can't believe she'll be a year old already.”

“I know what you mean. When Sarah turned one—” She stopped, swinging around as the back door opened. Daad appeared, supporting Joseph as he made his way slowly out onto the porch.

“We thought we'd come out and watch you work,” Daadi said.

Joseph nodded, pressing one hand against his ribs. “Got to make sure you're doing it right.”

“You'd best be careful, or I might come after you with these tomatoes.” Anna held up red-splashed hands.

Joseph chuckled and then groaned, clutching his ribs tighter. “Ach, don't make me laugh. It hurts too much.”

“Then you'd best stay away from these two little girls.” She nodded to Sarah and Gracie, who were rolling across the grass like a pair of puppies. “They're being a circus.”

He smiled, his face looking less drawn every day, it seemed. “They make me feel gut.” He settled in the chair Myra held for him, looking up into her face and saying something soft that made her smile and touch his cheek despite the tomato stains on her hand.

Anna's heart squeezed. The love between Myra and Joseph seemed to grow stronger with this adversity over Joseph's accident and with the waiting to hear the results of Myra's amniocentesis.

She had been waiting these past few days, too, and she wasn't sure what she was waiting for. A sign, maybe. Stay? Or go?

Her emotions had been all over the place. She hadn't even realized until she sat in worship on Sunday morning that she'd been considering staying. Thinking about being Amish again, forever. Committing herself to bringing Gracie up Amish.

Then had come that overheard nastiness, and she'd found it impossible to hang on to her emotions. Luckily no one had been there to see but Leah.

Of course they'd all found out anyway. If you wanted to keep anything to yourself, you'd better not belong to an Amish family, where one person's trouble or joy belonged to everyone.

She should have been annoyed that Samuel, of all people, had been
the one to speak to her about it. Should have been, but wasn't. Samuel had been through this situation, so he knew. And he cared—cared enough to talk about his own deepest feelings to her.

Since then, they hadn't had a private conversation. They'd both been busy, constantly surrounded by other people. Still, if he'd wanted to, he could have found some excuse to be alone with her.

She glanced across the lawn. With the workday over, Samuel had gone on to his second job, working the big gelding. They were in the ring now. By this time, the horse was following him around like a puppy dog.

Daad gave her the next pail of tomatoes. “I thought I'd help you and let Myra have a break.”

She nodded, watching as Joseph held out his arms to his small daughter. Myra bent over them, her hand moving, probably unconsciously, to stroke her belly.

“Are they going to be all right?” Anna asked the question softly, turning to her father as if she were a small child again.

“It will be as God wills.” Daad's fingers closed over hers on the handle. “They will deal with whatever comes, with His help.”

She nodded, tears stinging her eyes. Her emotions were just too close to the surface for comfort.

Daadi busied himself with cleaning the next batch. “Little Gracie likes to watch Samuel with the horses, doesn't she?”

Anna nodded, a little surprised by the change of subject. “Samuel certainly has a gift for training horses. I never thought he'd have that skittish animal practically eating out of his hand.”

“Samuel knows how to be slow and patient. The creatures sense that. After all the troubles with his daad running away and his mamm dying, he's turned into a gut man.” Daadi glanced at her, his eyes bright with curiosity.

She saw instantly what he was thinking, and she took a mental step back. Daadi would be only too ready to jump into pairing them up, just like everyone else in the community. Matchmaking was their favorite sport, far more popular than eck ball had ever been.

“Daadi, there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about.” Something she should have done before this, probably. “About the
family . . .” She paused, surprised that her throat had tightened up . . . “The family that I hit with the car.”

That had been the determining factor that finally sent her over the fence. Driving an English friend's car, coming upon the Amish buggy on the dark road . . . For months she hadn't been able to remember any of it, and even now she remembered very little. But it had been the final straw in her rebellion, the thing that sent her careening into a world she had been ill-prepared for, for all her eighteen-year-old bravado.

“Aaron Esch and his wife and kinder,” Daad said, seeming unsurprised. “Ja, what about them? They were shaken up, bruised a bit, but no one was seriously hurt. You knew that then.”

She had known it, but only because Leah had told her. That should have been her first thought upon awakening in the hospital. Instead, she'd been wrapped up in her own concerns.

Glancing at Gracie leaning against Joseph's knee, Anna realized that even though the past years had been difficult, maybe they'd knocked the selfishness out of her.

“I never talked to them. I never told them how sorry I was. There must have been a lot of damage to their buggy, too.” She had just walked away, taking refuge with her English friends, and leaving her family to deal with the consequences.

“I took care of having their buggy repaired. That was only right.” Daadi's face was grave, not minimizing what had happened, but not accusing her either. “Those Englischers, the ones that owned the car, I heard they wanted to give Aaron money so he wouldn't go to court, but naturally he wouldn't take it.”

Naturally. That wasn't the Amish way, and they wouldn't take money for following the Ordnung, the unwritten rules by which all the Amish agreed to live.

“I wish I could repay you for that. It must have been a lot—”

Daadi stopped her with a hand on her arm. “There's to be no talk of repaying between family, Anna. You are my child. Would you want little Gracie to repay you?”

“Gracie hasn't broken the law. Or broken her mother's heart.” Her throat choked on the words.

“Perhaps a mother's heart is made to be broken, over and over,” he said gently. “That seems to make it stronger. As for the Esch family, if you want to ask their forgiveness, you can. Why don't you mention it to Esther? They're her second or third cousins, so she'd know how to talk to them.”

“I will.” She'd forgotten that Mahlon's wife was kin to the family. Asking their forgiveness wasn't much, but it would go a little way toward clearing up the mess she'd made before she left.

“And while we're talking about cars . . .” Daad paused, studying her face. “I'm thinking it might be time for you to get rid of the car of yours that's sitting in Joseph's barn.”

She could only stare at him, astonished at the strength of the negative feelings that rose in her at the words.

She'd been thinking about staying, true. But to get rid of the car . . . maybe her reaction was telling her that she wasn't ready for that at all.

A
nna
walked along the road toward Rosemary's house, two loaves of pumpkin bread in the basket on her arm, with a sense almost of having escaped. She ought to feel guilty for thinking that, but it had been so long since she'd been alone that she couldn't seem to help it. She loved her family. She was grateful to them for taking her and Gracie in. Still, she couldn't help the feeling of being slowly smothered.

That was what she missed most about life in the English world. Not the presence of electricity at the flick of a switch or the ability to flip on the television and see what was happening in the world.

No, what she missed was more basic than that. Independence. The ability to live her own life and think her own thoughts. Most of all, sometimes just to be alone.

She turned in at Rosemary's mailbox, walking down the gravel driveway toward the house. The loaves of pumpkin bread she carried were a thank-you from Myra, who'd been fretting that she hadn't done anything to repay Rosemary for all the rides she'd given while Joseph was in the hospital.

The drive rounded a stand of hemlocks and the house came into view. A long, stone one-story, it sat in an L-shape around a fieldstone courtyard furnished with a loveseat, chairs, and an umbrella-topped table. A gas grill snuggled against one of the walls, looking far more elaborate than most people's stoves.

When Anna reached the door, Rosemary pulled it open before she could ring the bell.

“Anna, how nice! It's good to see you. How's Joseph doing? And
Myra? Is the business going okay without him?” She took Anna's arm, practically hauling her into the house.

Smiling at the enthusiasm, Anna handed Rosemary the basket. “Some pumpkin bread from Myra, with all her gratitude for your kindness. And they're well.” It took a moment to adjust to speaking English again, but then it seemed the most natural thing in the world. “Joseph is pretty antsy at not being able to do things, of course.”

“Of course. Men are always terrible patients.” Rosemary headed for the back of the house, beckoning her. “Come into the family room and have some coffee. I'm dying to talk to you.”

Anna followed her past a formal dining room and equally formal living room. “You have a lovely home.”

Lovely, but the rooms were so perfect they didn't look as if anyone used them.

“It's all right.” Rosemary seemed to dismiss the space. “We really live back here.”

The hallway opened into a large family room where sunshine streamed through a skylight. The kitchen was in one corner, separated from the rest of the room by a counter. White leather couches formed a semicircle in front of a stone fireplace. The glass panels of French doors gave a view of a landscaped garden with a decorative pond in the center.

Rosemary was in the kitchen, already pouring coffee into two mugs. “You will have coffee, won't you? You just have to stay and visit.”

“Yes, thank you.” Whether you were English or Amish, a cup of coffee was always a good excuse to sit and talk.

“Over here.” Rosemary, carrying the mugs, led the way to a round table next to the doors.

Anna joined her, inhaling the scent of the flavored coffee. “What a lovely garden.”

“Not bad,” Rosemary said. “But it doesn't really fit here.” She shrugged. “We thought we wanted to live in the country, but then we built a house and put in a garden you could find in the suburbs of any big city. Weird, isn't it?”

“Maybe so.” Anna hadn't been thinking that, but now that
Rosemary had pointed it out, she realized that what she said was true. The house and garden were a contradiction in the middle of farmland.

“So tell me.” Rosemary leaned toward her across the table. “I've been hearing about you coming back after, what was it . . . three years away?”

“About that.” Apparently it was too much to hope that the English, at least, wouldn't be interested.

“Why come back after that long? Because of the baby, I suppose.” She answered her own question.

“Yes, because of Gracie.” That was true, though not for the reason most people seemed to think.

“So this story that the baby is actually the child of a friend—is that true?”

Anna felt reasonably sure her mouth was agape.

Rosemary laughed. “That's me, tactless to the end. Sorry about that, but I figure if you want to know something, you ought to come right out and ask.”

Anna found she was returning the smile. The words had been said in such a friendly tone that it was impossible to take offense. Rosemary reminded her of Liz . . . forthright and honest.

“I don't mind telling you. Yes, Gracie really is the daughter of a close friend who died shortly after she was born. There wasn't any other family.”

“Sad. But the baby has ended up with plenty of relatives now, right?”

“Right.”

“We built this big house thinking we'd have babies to fill it.” Rosemary's eyes were shadowed. “It hasn't happened. Not yet, anyway.”

“I'm sorry.” She wanted to ask what the doctors said about Rosemary's chances of getting pregnant, since she wanted it so much, but she barely knew Rosemary, despite the woman's quick friendliness.

“No sense in brooding about it. That's what my husband says.” She waved her hand, as if trying to dismiss the subject. “You must have found it tough, getting used to the real world after growing up Amish. How on earth did you manage all alone?”

“I had some English friends who helped at first.” They'd soon fallen
away, though. They weren't family. “Even so, I wasn't nearly as prepared as I thought I was. Getting a job, finding a place to live, getting my GED—all of it was new.”

Funny, that no one else had asked that. Her family seemed to consider her life out there a blank page. Samuel, who knew what it was like more than anyone, had only talked about the adjustment of returning.

“Rough.” Rosemary took a gulp of her coffee. “Was any of it what you expected? Was it worth it?”

She considered. “The independence was great. Just being able to decide things for myself was so different from anything I was used to.”

“Yeah, but there are downsides to that—like not having anyone care if something happens to you.” Rosemary sounded as if she understood that personally.

Anna nodded. That had been the worst of it. “I made friends, eventually. People who became like family to me.” She shook her head. “I'm sorry. I'm talking too much about myself. Tell me about you. Where are you from?”

That was always a safe question in the outside world. People always seemed to be from someplace other than where they were. If you asked an Amishman that question, he'd look at you blankly.

“Originally Los Angeles.” She shrugged. “My husband changed jobs a lot at first. Always onward and upward. You know how that is. We saw this area when we were driving to Pittsburgh for a job interview. He had this vision that we'd settle down in the country, live close to nature, and he'd quit working so hard, but he never will.” She lifted her hands in a giving-up gesture. “He's gone most of the time. Truth is, I'm bored.”

That was how Anna had always felt as a teenager, bored out of her mind by the sameness of life here. Now—well, now she didn't have time to be bored. Amish or English, she didn't have time for that, not with a child to raise.

“So tell me.” Rosemary's curiosity apparently wasn't slaked yet. “Are you really going to stay?”

The blunt question gave her pause. She thought about her reaction to Daad's comment about getting rid of the car.

“I don't know,” she said honestly. She glanced at the clock. “I should be getting back.”

“Do you have to?” Rosemary shook her head. “Well, sure, you've got stuff to do, I know. That's the Amish. Always busy. Maybe if I didn't have electricity, I wouldn't be bored.” She smiled, standing when Anna did. “Listen, come back any time. Whenever you want to feel like an Englischer again.”

“Okay, I will.” Funny, how easy it was to fall back into an English way of speaking.

“Great.” Rosemary gave her a quick hug. “See you later.”

Maybe Rosemary just wanted someone to talk to, but that didn't really matter. Anna had found a friend, and she hadn't even realized that she needed one.

•   •   •

Anna
stood on the back porch, Gracie in her arms, watching the family gathered in the backyard for the picnic. With the meal over, adults settled in their seats to talk, while the children, too restless to wait for the cake and ice cream, chased each other around the yard or lined up for turns at cranking the handle of the ice cream maker.

Once again Anna had that dizzying sensation of seeing them as an outsider did. Who were they, these people who dressed so strangely and spoke a different language? That was what an outsider would see.

An outsider would see her as one of them. Same clothes, same language, same mannerisms—quiet, unassuming, humble. No outsider could look at her heart and know what was happening there. Sometimes even she couldn't.

Gracie tugged at Anna's kapp string, one of her favorite occupations. Anna caught the chubby little hand and kissed it, making Gracie laugh. Certainty settled in her.

What she felt or didn't feel at this moment didn't matter. The only important consideration was keeping Gracie safe.

“Anna, you're keeping that beautiful boppli to yourself, ain't so?” Mahlon's Esther hurried up the porch steps, Mahlon close behind her. “Let me put these dishes in the kitchen, and then I want to take her.”
She paused to coo at Gracie. “She remembers Aunt Esther, don't you, little schnickelfritz?”

Gracie babbled something incomprehensible, clasping her hands and then stretching them up, as if ready to fly out of Anna's arms.

Anna was swept with the need to hold her close.
Don't be so eager to fly away, little bird. You need your mammi still.

Would she ever feel ready to let Gracie go? Somehow she doubted it.

Mahlon held out his hands to Gracie. “Come and see me, little one.”

Gracie hesitated for a moment, giving him a coy smile. Then she lunged into his arms. Laughing, he lifted her over his head, making her shriek with glee.

“Careful,” Anna warned. “She just had her supper. You don't want applesauce and mashed potatoes all over you. Maybe I should take her.”

Mahlon settled Gracie high in his arms. “You're just jealous because she wants Uncle Mahlon now. I'll look after her.” Before Anna could answer, he marched off the porch with the baby.

Gracie would be fine with him. Maybe Mahlon didn't know a lot about babies yet, but he wasn't the careless boy he'd been. He was a grown man, perfectly capable of watching Gracie. Probably he and Esther would be starting a family of their own before long.

Anna should be helping Myra bring out the birthday cake instead of standing here worrying. She headed for the kitchen, her thoughts flickering to the girl she'd been. That girl had never taken responsibility for a thing, if she could help it. She couldn't have imagined how she'd feel as a parent.

“Anna, look at the cake Leah brought.” Myra was cutting thick slabs of chocolate cake. “Barbara brought snitz pies. Maybe get that cream out to go with. And the birthday cake is all ready except for lighting the candle.”

Nodding, Anna went to the propane refrigerator for the whipped cream. She had made the cake herself that morning, yellow cake with white frosting, trimmed with pink icing. She wasn't good enough with icing to write Gracie's name, but Gracie wouldn't know.

There would be no photos to hold the memory. The ban on cameras
irked her, but then, she wasn't likely to forget this day. “Shall I take coffee out then?”

“Ja, that would be fine.” Myra looked up, her cheeks flushed. “Joseph looks gut tonight, ain't so?” Her eyes grew concerned. “I was afraid he'd be too tired for this. You don't think it's too much for him, do you?”

Anna glanced out the kitchen window. Joseph sat in the rocking chair they'd carried out for him, a pillow at his back to cushion the sore ribs and a footstool under his feet. He was deep in conversation with Samuel and Leah's Daniel, young Matthew nearby listening in respectfully to his elders.

“Joseph looks fine right now,” she said. “We can keep a close eye on him in case he starts getting tired.”

“Ja, you're right.” Myra shook her head. “I worry too much, but . . .” She hesitated, and Anna knew without more being said that she was thinking about the babe she was carrying and the test results she was still waiting for. “I'm glad you're here, Anna. I don't know what we'd do without you just now.”

“I'm glad, too,” she said, picking up the coffeepot.

To her surprise, that was true. The trouble with the car that had landed her at Joseph and Myra's door seemed to have brought her to the right place at the right time. Whatever the future, she was here with them now.

The future. She carried a tray with cups and coffeepot to the door, pushing the screen open with her hip. Let her mind go there, and it would start spinning again. With no money and no viable transportation, she couldn't leave now if she wanted to.

Samuel saw her coming. He jumped up to take the heavy tray from her, his fingers brushing hers. “I'll carry that for you.”

“Denke, Samuel.” She withdrew her hands quickly, afraid someone might see. Might comment.

“He just wants you to hurry back for the cake and pies,” Joseph said, smiling. “He's still hungry.”

“I think you're talking about yourself, Joseph,” Daniel put in. “A man needs plenty to eat when he's recovering, ain't so?”

Joseph patted his lean stomach. “Wouldn't hurt, I guess.”

“There's a piece of cake and pie with your name on them,” Anna assured him.