At Home in Pleasant Valley (58 page)

They could both relax now. There'd be little enough traffic on this back road.

He glanced at Anna. She'd been quiet while he'd negotiated the busy road around the fairground, but he'd caught a glimpse of her hand gripping the side rail. Now she patted the sleeping baby in her lap, her face tilted down.

“Did you enjoy the fair?” he asked, wanting to break the silence.

She nodded. “Gracie loved seeing all the animals up close. And that sausage sandwich we had was definitely overload.”

He grinned, relieved to hear her sounding normal. “Too bad you didn't have room for one more caramel apple.”

“Ach, don't remind me.” She patted her stomach.

“Well, you have to eat the thing that means fair to you.”

She sobered, glancing at him. “It bothered you when I wanted to talk with Shelley. I'm sorry.”

That was a little more plain speaking than he'd expected from her, and it took him a moment to reply. “It wasn't exactly how I'd pictured our day at the fair together. For a second I wondered if you'd set that up.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide. “I didn't.”

“No, I know that. I could tell you were surprised to see an old friend there.”

But her eagerness to talk to the English woman had made him stop and think about where he was going with this interest in Anna. Since his own return, he'd avoided showing attention to any woman, fearing his own character.

And if he did think about committing to someone, it needed to be an Amish woman who was strong in her own faith. He could hardly say that about Anna.

She pressed her lips together, making him wonder what she was thinking.

“Shelley and I are not friends anymore,” she said finally.

He nodded. “That happens.” He'd predicted that, in fact, but he didn't think she'd believed him.

She shook her head. “She and the others . . . it seems as if they're just kids playing at being grown-ups. Waiting to start their real lives. I can't believe I wanted to be like them.”

He clucked to Blackie, who had taken advantage of his distraction to slow down. “It's not so odd. Most of us go through a time of wanting the freedom our English friends have.” He suspected that her concern ran deeper than that, though.

Her eyes were shadowed. “I'm not sure that they ever were my friends.” A car went by, sending out a spray of loose gravel, and she seemed to wince.

“Maybe, maybe not.” He wouldn't say things just to make her feel better. “Sometimes English kids want to hang around with the Amish just for kicks. To make fun of them, like. But I'm thinking you had other English friends who were real, like Gracie's birth mammi.”

Anna's smile flickered, chasing some of the shadows from her eyes. “That's true enough, but I didn't think to hear you say it.”

“Ach, I don't discount the value of friends, even with folks who are very different. Take that horse of Mr. Bartlett's, for instance.”

“The horse?” Her eyebrows lifted. “Now you're comparing me to a horse?”

He grinned, glad to see the liveliness coming back into her face. “Now, just hear me out. That animal was nervous as a cat at first, kicking at the stall bars, knocking over his water pail, making a nuisance of himself every time he was in the barn. So I got the loan of a goat from Aaron Zook.”

“A goat.” Her lips were twitching.

“Ja, a goat. Don't you make fun of me now, Anna Beiler. Those two animals got to be friends in no time at all, though they're as different as can be. Calmed that nervy horse down in no time flat, that goat did.”

“So I get to be either a horse or a goat, do I?”

“Ach, you're definitely the horse, if you must be one or the other. Strong and high-spirited, but a mite uneasy in a new place.”

“This isn't a new place—” She stopped, her head swiveling as a car roared up behind them.

He didn't bother to look around, concentrating on keeping his hands steady on the lines. The driver gave a loud blast on the horn, and
the car swerved around them. Blackie, used to motor vehicles, flicked an ear at it, nothing more.

Samuel turned to Anna, but a casual comment died on his lips. Her face was dead white, her lips trembling, and she clutched the child fiercely against her breast.

“Stop—please stop. I have to get down. I have to!”

The hysteria in her voice sent a shock through him. “It's all right, Anna. They didn't hit us.”

A farm lane led off to the right through a grove of trees. He turned Blackie into it and off onto the grass, then brought the buggy to a halt. He let the lines drop, knowing Blackie would be content to stand there indefinitely.

“Anna—” But before he could get out more than her name, she slid down from the buggy, carrying the baby. She rushed a few steps away and stopped, her shoulders shaking.

He jumped to the ground and went to her, approaching as slow and easy as if she were a wild creature. “Anna?” He reached out gently to touch her arm. “Was ist letz? What's wrong?”

She was trembling. A wave of caring had him putting his arm around her before he thought that she might not like it. But she didn't pull away.

“Was ist letz?” he said again. “That car passing so close—did that frighten you? Blackie is used to traffic.”

She shook her head. “The accident.” Her voice choked on the words.

Easy, he cautioned himself. Take it slow. “The accident,” he repeated. “The one you were in with those English kids.”

She nodded, head down, pressing her cheek against the head of the sleeping child. “I know what happened. They told me when I woke up in the hospital. But I never really remembered it.”

“You had a head injury.” He'd gone to the hospital once, like most of the community. And he'd helped out with Joseph's work, freeing him to see to his family. “Sometimes people don't remember.”

“That's what the doctors said. That probably I'd never remember. But today, when I was talking to Shelley, a little of it flashed into my mind. And just now . . .” She stopped, as if she couldn't go on.

“When that car raced around us, it made you remember.” He patted her shoulder, wishing he could take the pain away.

“I was driving. Jarrod said he'd teach me. They kept telling me to go faster, laughing, saying there was nothing on the road.”

Her words seemed to gain momentum as she spoke, as if she couldn't get them out fast enough.

“It was exciting, racing through the dark, seeing the road curving ahead in the headlights. When I saw the orange triangle, the buggy, I was going too fast. I tried to swerve, tried to brake, but it was too late. I hit them.”

“Ja.” What could he do but agree? “Thank the gut Lord no one was badly hurt.”

“It was my fault. I did it.” Her eyes darkened with pain. “There was a family in that buggy. A mother holding her child.” She held Gracie even closer. “I could have killed them. They must have been so afraid. How could I not remember that?”

“Maybe God knew that you needed time before you remembered,” he said gently. “We can't understand His ways.”

“I did that to them,” she said again. “Afterward, when Leah tried to talk to me about it, all I found to say was that it wasn't so bad. That other people had done worse. How could I have dismissed it like that? What kind of person am I?”

“Anna, stop.” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “If you see now that you did wrong, then that needs confessing and mending. But you're not that heedless girl anymore, are you?”

She took a breath, and it seemed to him that she steadied under his hands.

“No,” she said softly. “I'm not.”

“You're not,” he agreed. “You're a woman grown, and you've had your share of pain. It's made you strong—strong enough to handle this, too.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but they didn't spill over. She nodded.

His own heart was full, and he knew that he was past the point of choosing whether he had feelings for Anna. Wise or not, he did.

A
nna
could only be thankful that the trip to the medical clinic was by car, not by horse and buggy. Daad had arranged for Ben Morgan, an elderly Englischer who enjoyed driving the Amish, to take her and Myra today.

Not that she wouldn't eventually have to get back on the road in a buggy, but after what had happened the day before on the way home from the fair, she was glad it didn't have to be today.

How had that happened? She still didn't quite understand how she could suddenly remember so vividly after all that time had passed. It was as if a closed door in her mind opened, and the memories and emotions had come exploding out.

Samuel had been unfortunate enough to be in the way.

She had been the lucky one—lucky that he was there. For someone who didn't talk a great deal, Samuel had a gift for saying the right thing.

She glanced at Myra. Her sister-in-law sat quietly, hands folded in her lap, looking down. She was apprehensive, of course, about what awaited them at the clinic.

Doubt assailed her. Maybe Myra would be better off to have someone else with her. Leah had volunteered at the clinic, after all. She knew the people there, knew far more than Anna about genetic diseases.

But Myra had asked her, and so she was here, praying she could be what Myra needed today.

Praying even more fervently that all she'd have to do was help Myra celebrate good news.

Still, the very fact that Myra had to go in for an appointment seemed
ominous to her. Good news might easily have come in a letter. It was usually bad news that had to be delivered in person.

“Here we are, ladies,” Ben said, with a cheerfulness that didn't quite ring true. He'd undoubtedly figured out that this wasn't a routine visit. He drew the car up under a tree on the edge of the gravel parking lot. “I'll sit here in the shade. I brought my book, and I'm in no hurry at all.”

“Denke, Ben.” Anna slid out of the car and then realized that Myra hadn't moved. She sat frozen, staring at the front door of the clinic.

Anna's heart missed a beat.
Please, Father, guide me. Help her.

She walked quickly around the car, opened the door, and took Myra's hand. “Komm, Myra. It's time for your appointment.”

Myra just gazed at her for a moment, her eyes wide and frightened. Then she got out, moving as stiffly as a very old woman, and let Anna lead her up the front steps.

Once in the center hall, she guided Myra to a seat in the waiting room. The clinic, she knew, was on the right side of the building, while the labs and research facilities were on the left.

Leah had talked about the volunteer work she did for the researchers, helping to record the family trees of Amish families affected by genetic diseases. Would Joseph and Myra be joining that list?

“Sit down, Myra.” Anna settled her on one of the plastic chairs that lined the wall. “I will tell them you're here.”

The woman behind the reception desk heard the name and checked it off on the form. “If you'll have a seat, Dr. Brandenmyer will see you in a few minutes.”

Anna nodded and returned to Myra, taking the seat next to her. She put her hand over Myra's clasped ones.

“It will be all right,” she said softly. “You'll know soon.”

Myra let out a soft moan. “If something is wrong with the baby, what will we do?”

If Anna closed her eyes, she could hear Jannie asking the same question. But it hadn't been the baby with a problem. It had been Jannie.

She took a shaky breath. She'd been worrying about how Myra would cope if the news was bad. Maybe she should be concerned about herself, too. Could she be strong in a similar situation yet again?

“Mrs. Beiler?” The door beside the reception desk had opened. The man who stood there was tall and lean, with graying hair and an eager, youthful smile. He approached them, holding out his hand. “I'm Dr. Brandenmyer. You're Leah Glick's sister-in-law, I understand.”

“Ja.” Myra seemed to thaw under his friendly smile. “This is Leah's sister, Anna Beiler.”

The smile was turned on her. “It's so nice to meet you. We think very highly of Leah around here.”

“It is good to meet you, Dr. Brandenmyer.” That friendly smile had been accompanied by a look so piercing that it seemed he could see right through her.

“Just come along with me, will you please?” He went striding back through the door, and they had to hurry to keep up with him.

He led the way to a room that looked more like someone's private study than an exam room. He gestured them to a pair of padded chairs, picked up a folder from the desk, and then drew up a chair facing them.

He didn't put the desk between them, she noticed. Some of Jannie's doctors had seemed to take refuge doing that.

“You've come here for the results of your amnio, so I won't keep you waiting.” His hand rested on the manila folder on his lap, but he didn't open it.

Myra nodded. Her hand went out to clasp Anna's, and Anna held on tight.

“I'm sorry to have to tell you that it looks as if your baby has Down's syndrome.”

Myra sucked in a strangled breath. “Are you sure?”

“We can't tell one hundred percent, of course, but yes, I'm sure. I'm very sorry.”

“Denke,” Myra whispered.

Anna put her arm around Myra's shoulders, pain like a knot in her chest. “I'm sorry,” she murmured. “So sorry.”

Myra nodded, her grip on Anna's hand wrenching.

“This is never good news, of course,” Dr. Brandenmyer said. “We're more fortunate now than we used to be, because we're able to detect it early. It is a little unusual in a woman as young as you are.”

Anna realized he was studying Myra's face as he talked, gauging how she was dealing with the news. He'd probably been in this situation more times than he could count, but there was no mistaking the compassion in his eyes.

“I have some reading material for you that will help you understand.” He flipped open the folder and took out several small booklets, which he held out. Myra didn't move, so Anna took them.

“Thank you, Dr. Brandenmyer.”

“It will be difficult to tell your husband, I know. I hope he's recovering all right from his accident?”

Myra nodded. “He is much better, ja.”

“There is one thing you and he might want to discuss.” His tone was cautious, as if he tiptoed into the subject. “A fairly high percentage of women who get this news decide to terminate the pregnancy. You can—”

“No.” Myra seemed to come back to life. She put her hand protectively over her belly. “No, we will not do that. Our baby will be as God plans.”

He reached out to pat her hand. “I didn't really expect anything else, but it's my job to tell you all your options. We know that about fifty percent of Down's syndrome babies also have heart defects, so that's another factor to consider.”

Myra closed her eyes, as if she couldn't look at his sympathetic face any longer. Or as if she needed to hide.

“We understand,” Anna said. She wasn't sure Myra could handle any more information right now.

Dr. Brandenmyer's gaze met Anna's, and she felt he understood all that she was thinking. He nodded.

“Maybe it will be as well if we leave it at that for now. Go home, talk with your husband, be sure you know what you want to do. You'll be seeing your regular doctor for appointments, but coming here for tests from time to time, so we'll talk again.”

With her arm around Myra, Anna helped her to rise. She could understand now why Leah thought so highly of this man. No one could have been kinder.

But now she needed to get Myra home to Joseph. They'd have to figure out how to face this sorrow together.

•   •   •

“Is
Myra doing any better today?”

Leah looked down at Anna from the stool on which she stood, wiping down an already clean wall at Mahlon and Esther's house in preparation for worship services on Sunday. The work frolic was in full swing, with every available person from the family pressed into service.

“I'm not sure.” Anna rinsed out the cloth she was using to wipe down the baseboards. “I thought so yesterday, but she really didn't want to come today, and I thought I shouldn't force her.”

“She's helping by watching the kinder. The work goes faster without them, for sure.”

“Ja, that's true enough. If we had your Rachel, plus Sarah and my Gracie and Barbara's two youngest running around, the house would be getting dirty instead of clean. Not that it isn't perfectly clean to start with,” she added hastily. Esther's house had, as always, been spotless when they'd arrived this morning.

Leah chuckled. “For sure. I don't know how Rachel does it, but she can create more chaos in five minutes than the other children do all day.”

“Maybe she takes after her naughty aunt.” Anna said the words without thinking and then wished she hadn't. Her relationship with Leah was mending, but maybe it wasn't as strong as all that yet.

But Leah was smiling. “Ach, don't you talk that way about my baby sister. You weren't naughty, only spirited.”

“And spoiled,” Anna added.

“Maybe a little bit,” Leah said. “But I'm as much to blame for that as anyone. Mammi and I were so happy for another girl after all those boys.” She paused, looking down at Anna, her hand resting on the wall. “Maybe we made it harder for you in the long run. I'm sorry.”

“Goodness, Leah, you've nothing to be sorry about.” Anna blinked away the tears that had sprung to her eyes at her sister's words. “You were always the best big sister, even when I drove you crazy.” She could think of a number of things her younger self had blurted out that she wished unsaid. “That's why I'm feeling that you'd be the better person for Myra to lean on now, not me.”

Leah climbed down from the stool and moved it over, frowning a little. “I think you're wrong about that. Myra probably feels more connected to you. You're much closer in age, after all.”

“Maybe that's so, but your work at the clinic makes you much better prepared than I am to help her.”

The sense of helplessness she'd felt sitting with Myra in Dr. Brandenmyer's office swept over her again. Leah would know better what to say.

“Your friend must have gone through difficult times when she was pregnant, ain't so?”

“Ja, of course. But it's not the same. Jannie knew she was dying.”

Leah's eyes clouded with pity. “Poor girl. But even though the cause was different, the grieving process is the same. Myra is grieving the loss of the child she expected to have, and she's adjusting to the one she will have.”

Anna nodded, considering that. She'd read everything she could find on the stages of grief when Jannie had learned what she was facing. She just hadn't thought about how that applied to Myra.

“I see why everyone turns to Teacher Leah with their problems,” she said. “Even if you're no longer the community's schoolteacher, you still have all the answers.”

“Not all,” Leah said, turning back to the work. “After all, you're the one who went to college, ain't so?”

The edge in Leah's voice startled Anna so much that for a moment she just stood, staring at her sister. Then she put out her hand to stop Leah's brisk movements with the sponge.

“Leah? Does it make you angry that I took college classes?”

Leah kept her face averted. “Why would that make me angry? We'd best get to work, or Esther will think she has slackers for sisters-in-law.”

Anna was tempted to let it go. But if she and Leah were going to repair their relationship, surely it was better to get all the sore spots out in the open.

“Talk to me, Leah. I can see that it bothers you. I know the church frowns on higher education, but I was living in the world then.”

Leah stared down at the sponge in her hand. She turned slowly, still not quite facing Anna.

“I have a wise friend at the clinic,” she said slowly. “An Amish woman who jumped the fence for the sake of an education. She told me once that people leave for all sorts of reasons—some for conveniences like electricity and airplanes, some for opportunities, like education. If I had ever left, it would have been for that. For learning.”

“And I was the one who had that chance.” Anna's mouth twisted with the irony of it. “I'm sorry, Leah. I didn't think. Do you still—”

“Ach, no,” Leah said quickly, turning to her fully and clasping her hands. “I am in the right place for me. I know that for certain-sure. Our kinder are mine to teach and help, and I can learn all I want from reading. Sometimes I just wonder what college is like, that's all.”

“And I was the one who got to find out, when I never cared a thing for learning. Your friend was right. I left for the freedom I thought I'd find there.”

“Did you?”

Anna considered. Had she found the freedom she'd wanted so badly?

“Not so much as I imagined. I was still tied down, but by different things—the need for a job, for an education. And then by my love for Jannie and for Gracie.”

“Would you change, if you could? The life you imagined for the one you have?”

“Never,” she said instantly. “I have Gracie. Loving her is more important than anything.”

Leah smiled gently. “Then you know how I feel, too.”

Anna clasped Leah's hand and felt the warmth of her sister's grip. They had crossed a bridge in the past few minutes, she and her sister, and it was one that brought them closer at last.

•   •   •

“You
will have another sandwich, ja?” Esther passed the platter of cold meat sandwiches around the table again, determined to feed her helpers.

That was part of the routine, almost a ritual that Anna remembered from her earliest childhood. Whenever one family was hosting church, all the women would gather early in the morning to clean, then share a simple lunch together before returning home.