At Home in Pleasant Valley (60 page)

As for Samuel, he seemed to have backed away from the feelings he'd shown the night he kissed her and from the intent she'd sensed when he'd asked her to go to the fair. She'd thought then that he was imagining them as a family. She'd thought that a relationship was there if she wanted it.

Since then, her sense had been that he'd backed away. Even today, in the barn, she'd thought he was going to express his feelings, but he'd fallen silent.

Maybe he felt that was for the best. Maybe neither of them was ready for anything more than friendship.

•   •   •

Celebration
seemed to hang in the evening air, mingled with the spicy scent of the marigolds planted along the edge of the back porch. Anna glanced at Joseph and Myra, sitting side by side on the porch swing. They looked . . . contented, that was the word. Despite all the trials of the past weeks, at the moment they were simply thinking of Samuel.

“So the Englischer, he was pleased,” Myra prompted Samuel, sounding like a child who wants to hear a favorite story again.

Samuel leaned back against the porch post from his perch on the top step, setting aside the plate that had contained a slice of apple crumb pie. He glanced at Anna, as if inviting her to smile with him at Myra's moment of happiness.

“Ja, Myra, he was most pleased. He said he would recommend me to his friends.”

“And he paid well,” she prompted.

“He paid well.” He grinned. “He paid well enough to make up for any customers I lost us in the shop while Joseph was out.”

“Don't be ferhoodled,” Joseph said. “You've done fine, you have.”

“With Matthew's help, and your daad's. That boy has a gift for mechanics. He fixed that automated sander from the carpentry shop without advice from anyone. I'd have been asking Joseph, if it was me.”

Anna leaned back in the rocker. She ought to gather up the dessert dishes and coffee cups, but she lingered, listening to the soft voices and watching the lightning bugs rise from the grass.

“Bartlett wants me to go along to the auction at New Holland with him. Help him pick out a young horse to train for driving. He has a fancy to get a buggy.” Samuel paused, frowning a little. “I'm not sure if I should. It takes a lot of time to school a young horse.”

Was he thinking again that he had to give up what he wanted for others? Surely not. “It must not take more than retraining one that's already been spoiled, like Star. You did wonderful gut with him,” Myra said.

“That's right.” Joseph jumped in on her words. “You'll take the time you need for it. It's important. And besides, I'm doing better every day, ain't so, Myra?”

She nodded, patting his knee. “You'll soon be all well.”

It was what Myra would say to Sarah if she bumped her head, but Joseph didn't seem to notice. For that matter, Joseph and Samuel also didn't seem to notice that there was anything wrong with Myra's sudden cheerfulness. They both loved her and wanted so much to see her happy that they didn't look beyond the surface.

Anna would like to believe it, but she couldn't. She studied Myra, who was talking now with animation about something Sarah had said that day. All that easy chatter . . . that wasn't Myra.

Anna would have to do something. Talk to Joseph. Or maybe Samuel would be better. He was her brother, after all. Yes, Samuel was the one. She didn't want to worry Joseph if there was no need. Surely together she and Samuel would be able to convince Myra to talk to the counselor.

Joseph stretched, yawning. “I'm ready to go in, I think.”

“I'll go with you,” Myra said, standing. When Anna started to move, she waved her back to her seat. “Stay, no need to go in yet. Talk to Samuel.”

Once the door closed behind them, Samuel gave a soft chuckle. “My sister, the matchmaker. Just ignore her. You don't have to stay out here if you have something else to do.”

Anna shook her head. “It's a beautiful evening. I hate to go in.”

“Ja.” Samuel glanced out across the darkening fields. “We won't have too many more warm evenings like this to enjoy sitting out.”

She tilted her head back to look up at the half-full moon. “It reminds
me of when I was little. Everyone would gather on the back porch in the evening after chores, and I'd beg to be allowed to stay up later. ‘Just five more minutes, Mammi.'”

“And she let you.” His voice was warm, as if he had memories like those, too.

“Ja. I'd be so sure I could stay awake, but of course I couldn't. I'd drift off to sleep with their sweet voices in my ears.”

She wasn't sure how it happened. One moment she was fine, and the next her voice choked and tears threatened to spill over.

Samuel swiveled toward her. Without saying anything, he reached out and took her hand. His was work-hardened and warm, but so very gentle. His fingers moved on the back of her hand, caressing it, sending waves of comfort through her.

“You are missing your mamm,” he said finally. “I know. I feel that, too.”

She nodded, not sure she could trust her voice to speak. She just held on to him, letting his strength and comfort flow through her, until the tightness in her throat eased and she could speak.

“She was so patient, always. She took such joy in every little moment with each of us.”

He clasped her hand gently. “That's the kind of mother you want to be, ain't so? The life you want for your daughter, too.”

“I guess so.” What he said was true, wasn't it? Certainly that she wanted to be at least half the mother Mammi had been.

Exasperation with herself welled in her. Why couldn't she just decide, once and for all, that this was the life she wanted for herself and her daughter?

Samuel's fingers tightened on her hand. “Anna . . .” He hesitated, as if searching for words.

She had to stop him before he said something that would change things irrevocably between them. “Myra,” she blurted out the name. “We have to talk about Myra.”

She felt the surprise that went through him at the abrupt change. Felt him hold back for an instant and then accept.

“What about Myra? She seems better today, ja? I am so relieved that she's adjusting.”

“Adjusting? She's not adjusting at all. Don't you see that?”

He let go of her hand then, frowning. “But she seems happier, more like her old self.”

“That's just it.” Anna leaned toward him, willing him to believe her. “That's not normal. She can't simply get over news like this all in a moment.”

He mulled that over, not responding right away, his face in the dim light giving nothing away. Finally he shook his head.

“I don't know, Anna. Don't you think it's possible that she's prayed and has come to some peace about the boppli's condition?”

If only that were true. “But she hasn't. When we talked, she as gut as told me that the doctor is wrong. She said she's sure that the baby is a boy, and that he'll be fine.”

She saw Samuel absorb the impact of her words. His face tightened, the skin seeming to draw against the bones. “Have you told Joseph?”

“Not yet.” She shook her head. “I hate to upset him just when he's starting to improve. But I think she needs to talk to someone about it. There's a counselor at the clinic, a woman Leah knows. But Myra insists she doesn't need to see her.”

Again he was silent. She expected herself to be impatient with him, but she wasn't. His lack of reaction didn't mean that he didn't understand or that he didn't care. It was simply Samuel's way.

“I'm not convinced you're right,” he said slowly. “But I know we can't take a chance. We must all help her. Joseph, Leah, you, and me. But mostly you, I think.”

“Me? Why me?” Did Samuel really want to trust his sister to her?

He took her hand again, holding it in a warm, insistent clasp. “You're the woman who is closest to her right now. She counts on you. I know you will help her. Ain't so?”

She nodded slowly, but somewhere deep inside a seed of doubt began to open. How could she help Myra face the truth? She had enough trouble doing that herself.

I
'
ll
let you get started on the dining room cleaning, first.” Rosemary set a cleaning caddy filled with supplies on the oval table. “Just let me know if you need anything else.”

Anna nodded, picking up a bottle of furniture polish. There had been a subtle change in Rosemary's manner since Anna had arrived as a household helper rather than a neighbor. Subtle, but there. Obviously they were now employer and employee.

That was fine. After working in a restaurant for three years, Anna knew it was best to just smile and get on with it. Whether a customer shouted at you for something that was the cook's mistake or stiffed you on the tip, that was just the way things were.

Besides, being Amish was good training in humility. She started polishing the mahogany breakfront. All that was really important was that she'd found a way to earn a little money.

And why is that important?
the little voice at the back of her mind asked.
Because you're not really committed to staying here, that's why. Because you think someday you're going to want to run again, and the money will be needed.

She'd saved up before she left the last time, squirreling away most of the money she'd earned working at Paula Schatz's bakery in town. But then the accident had happened, and she'd had to leave much more quickly than she'd intended.

The money hadn't gone far . . . just about enough for the bus that had taken her to Chicago, with very little left over.

Jarrod's mother had offered her money when she'd learned Anna was leaving. Anna had turned her down, of course. They'd done enough
for her, hiring a lawyer to defend her against the driving charge. She couldn't take anything else from them.

In retrospect, Mrs. Wells had probably been so happy to see the Amish girl out of her son's life that she'd have gladly paid anything, not that Anna would have taken money for that.

Not very pleasant thoughts, she decided. She concentrated on the polishing, liking the way the liquid made the rich color of the wood come out.

Rosemary wandered back in while she was working on the table legs. “That looks great.” She ran a finger along the top of the breakfront. “I just love this piece, don't you?”

“It's very nice,” Anna said, starting on the chair legs while she was down on the floor.

Rosemary picked up the window cleaner and a paper towel. “I'll do the glass on the doors.”

Anna glanced up, a little surprised. “You're paying me to do the work.”

“I know.” Rosemary grimaced slightly. “I was trying to be the boss, because that's what my husband told me to do. ‘Tell the girl what to do and let her get on with it,' he said. But I'm not very good at that. I'd rather work along with you.”

Anna had to laugh. So the change in Rosemary hadn't gone very deep. “I would like that better, too.”

Rosemary sprayed the pane of glass and began polishing energetically. “It's pretty boring, doing the cleaning by myself. I guess it's different in an Amish family, with so many people around to help. You always have company.”

“Ja, I guess so.” Anna remembered what Myra had said about doing dishes with her sister when she'd first arrived. “Working together can be a time for talking and joking, too.”

“That's the thing,” Rosemary said. “Having someone to talk to.”

Anna could hear the yearning for connection in Rosemary's voice. She knew the feeling. She'd certainly felt that way herself, when she first went to Chicago. She'd been out of place there, and apparently Rosemary felt out of place here.

“I was often lonely when I went out in the English world,” she confessed, wondering if it would help. “I was independent, but lonely.”

“I'm not . . .” Rosemary stopped, shrugged. “Well, I guess I do get lonely, with my husband gone so much of the time.”

“Why did you move here? I'd think you'd be happier in town, where you'd have near neighbors.” Joseph and Myra's place was the closest house, and that was a good half mile down the road.

“Oh, we thought it would be fun. Picking out the land, deciding on the house plans, and then decorating the place.” Rosemary stood back from the breakfront to see the effect of the shiny glass doors. “I did enjoy that. I picked out everything in the house myself, and Richard gave me free rein. Whatever I wanted, I could have.”

“Generous,” Anna said. Richard must do very well if he could afford that.

“Richard is always generous. He's just not here very much to enjoy the place now that we have it.” Rosemary leaned on the back of a chair, the paper towel idle in her hand. “Once the house was finished, I realized there wasn't much to do here.”

“What did you do before you got married?” Anna reminded herself that Rosemary was paying her well for her time. If she wanted to use that time to talk, she'd listen.

“I was a secretary. Richard's secretary, to be exact. I worked my way up from receptionist to the boss's secretary.” She made a little face. “That's a pretty tacky story, isn't it? But I do love him.”

“I can see that.” There was a softness in Rosemary's eyes whenever she mentioned her husband. “It's a shame you can't have more time together.”

“I guess it's not like that for you Amish. Myra and Joseph are together all the time, I see.”

“Just about. That's the Amish way. They started out being farmers, with the whole family working together to run the farm. But it's hard to find enough good farmland, even here in the valley, so people have to turn to something else. They still try to keep the work as close to home as possible.”

“Joseph could probably make a lot more money if he went to work in a factory.”

“That isn't the most important thing to us.”

Us
, she'd said. But here was another place where she felt like two
different people. The Annie who'd worked for tips in the restaurant so she could take college classes—that Annie would have done almost anything to make more money. She had known only too well that it meant the difference between having a decent place to live and being out on the street.

And she was still doing it, in a way. Hedging her bets. Working for Rosemary to have the money she'd need if she left.

“Do you miss it?” Rosemary asked. “Your life in Chicago, I mean.”

“Sometimes,” Anna said, trying to be honest.

“Gracie's real mother—birth mother, I mean. She wasn't Amish, was she?”

The question startled Anna. “No, she wasn't.”

Jannie hadn't been anything definite, it seemed. Just another of the lost kids who ended up in one big city or another.

“It makes me wonder.” Rosemary tilted her head to the side, watching Anna's face. “I wonder if you're doing the right thing, trying to bring up an English child in the Amish world.”

For a moment Anna couldn't speak. The blow had been unexpected. Finally, she fell back on words that weren't her own.

“Her mother wanted me to raise her right. That's what I'm trying to do.”

“Sure, I know you have Gracie's best interest at heart. I just wonder if bringing her up Amish is what her mother had in mind.”

Anna took a breath, tamping down her anger. Rosemary seemed to be one of those people who blurted out what was in her head, even when it wasn't really any of her business.

“Gracie is my child,” Anna said. “I must make the decision about what is the right life for her.”

It was what she believed with all her heart. She just wasn't sure she knew what that right life was.

•   •   •

Anna
shook out the damp sheet and pinned the corner to the clothesline Joseph had put up for Myra in the backyard. The breeze caught the sheet, billowing it out like a sail. Anna lifted her face.

It felt like fall suddenly, with a crispness in the wind that hadn't
been there the previous day. The calendar was turning to October, and this long September warm spell was coming to an end.

Anna clipped the sheet to the line, trying to concentrate on the simple task. Trying not to let her mind spin back to that conversation with Rosemary yesterday.

Was it right, to consider bringing Gracie up as Amish? Was that what Jannie would have wanted?

When she and Gracie had arrived, all she'd been able to think about was safety. Like a rabbit diving into its hole at the approach of the fox, she'd bolted home, knowing they'd take her in.

Knowing, too, that she could disappear into the community. The outside world would look only at the dress and think Amish, without peering any more closely at the individual behind the prayer kapp.

The panic that had driven Anna had vanished quickly, but it had taken weeks to make her feel safe. Now she did. Now she seriously considered staying.

And that brought her full circle back to the question she would like to avoid. Was it right to bring Gracie up here?

She reached automatically for the basket to pick up the next piece of laundry and found it empty. She'd hung the entire line full with sheets and pillowcases without even noticing.

She stood for a moment, frowning as she watched them flap in the breeze. She wanted to talk to someone. If she could lay out all her doubts, maybe her course would become clear.

As a child, she'd always turned to Leah, the big sister who could solve every problem, but she couldn't talk to Leah, of all people, now. She would be so hurt if she knew Anna had doubts.

All of them would, if they knew. The whole family had enough to worry about, what with Joseph's slow recovery and Myra's cheerful pretense that nothing was wrong.

As Anna picked up the basket, she saw movement out by the barn. It was Samuel, leading one of the horses. Over his shoulder was the chain he'd used to move her car that first day.

Anna dropped the basket and scurried toward him, telling herself it was none of her business what he was doing, but compelled to go anyway.

By the time she reached the barn, he'd already disappeared inside. She hurried in. Samuel was harnessing the horse to her car.

“What are you doing?” she said.

Samuel looked up. He was probably startled, but his stolid face didn't reveal it. He patted the horse's shoulder.

“I asked you that the day you came back, when I found you in here harnessing up Joseph's buggy horse.”

“I know. I remember.” She crossed the barn floor toward him. “What's going on, Samuel? Where are you taking my car?”

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Your daad sent word over by Matthew. He's arranged for the junkyard man to come for it today. He asked if I'd haul it out of the barn for them, not wanting the tow truck to come in here.”

“Today.” She'd been expecting it, but still it seemed to catch her by surprise.

“Ja, today. You did tell him to get rid of the car, ain't so?”

“I did.” She hesitated, but after everything else she'd said to Samuel, she could say this. “I just didn't think it would bother me so much when the time came.” She moved closer, patting the dusty fender much as Samuel had patted the horse. “This was Jannie's car. I couldn't afford one. As you can see, she couldn't afford much of a car.”

The tension in his expression eased. “Your friend left it to you.”

“I hadn't driven since the accident, just used public transportation, but she insisted I had to try. In case I needed to get the baby to the hospital or anything.”

“So she cared about the baby's future, even knowing she wouldn't be there.”

Anna ran her finger along the side mirror, her thoughts drifting into the past. “We drove out of the city one day, when she felt well enough. She wanted to see the country, she said. To see trees and grass again before she . . .” Her voice failed her.

“I'm sorry.” His voice was a low rumble. “It's brought up sad memories.”

Anna shook her head. “Bittersweet, maybe. Not entirely sad. She was happy that day.”

“If you don't want to get rid of the car, you can tell your daad why. He'd understand.”

“No point in that. It's so far gone it's of no use anyway, I guess.”

For a moment Samuel stared at her, as if absorbing her words. Then something flared in his eyes. “Were you planning to make a quick getaway, Anna?”

The edge of anger in his voice caught her on the raw, startling her. Samuel, who never lost his temper, was furious with her.

Her own temper rose in an instant. “If you're thinking I'd run off and leave Myra when she needs me, you don't understand me as well as you think, Samuel Fisher.”

He seemed taken aback by the direct attack. He took a step toward her, the anger fading from his face, and something solemn taking its place.

“If you left, I would be sorry on my own account, not just on my sister's. I would be disappointed in you, as well.”

The mood had changed so quickly she felt oddly off balance. Everything that might be between them seemed to hover in the air, unspoken. She wanted to touch him, to assure him that she was here forever, that it was safe for them to love each other. But how could she? The doubts still clung.

She shook her head, trying to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. “I don't want to disappoint you. Or anyone else. I just . . .”

It was hopeless. He wouldn't understand. He'd have only the simple answer that she belonged here, so her child did, too.

“Tell me.” He caught her hand in his. “What is troubling you so?”

Anna couldn't seem to turn away from his intent gaze. Finally she shook her head.

“It's foolish to let it trouble me, maybe. But when I was working at Rosemary's yesterday, she said something that . . . well, it raised a question in my mind.” She stopped, not sure she should continue.