At Home in Pleasant Valley (61 page)

“What did she ask?” Samuel obviously wouldn't let it go.

Anna took a breath. “She asked whether it was right, to raise a child born English as Amish.”

Samuel was quiet for a long moment. She had the sense that beneath his calm surface, tension roiled.

“I shouldn't have said anything,” she said quickly. “Just forget it.” She tried to smile, but it probably wasn't very convincing. “I've gotten into the habit of confiding in you, and that isn't fair.”

His hand tightened on hers. “We are friends. We should be able to say the difficult words, ja?”

She nodded, her throat tight.

“So tell me what it was your friend Jannie expected from you.”

She took a shaky breath. “At first, she counted on me as you would on any friend. She thought she was going to be all right. She floated along on that belief for months, it seemed, ignoring what the doctors told her.”

Her throat thickened still more, so that it was an effort to get the words out.

“When she finally accepted that she wasn't going to survive, all her strength went to the baby.”

“It's what a mother does,” he said quietly.

She nodded, tears pricking her eyes. “Jannie had always been so timid. Malleable. She never seemed to have a thought of her own, just went along with what everyone else wanted. Suddenly she was a mother lion. She decided what she wanted to do and pushed everyone into line. Got the lawyer, got Pete to sign the papers, arranged for me to adopt. The lawyer was doubtful about me. He tried to get her to give the baby to an agency for adoption, but she was determined that I would be Gracie's mother.”

“Did she tell you why?”

“She said she could count on me to raise Jannie right.”

“If she thought that, it was because of the person you are, ja?” His voice was gentle.

“Of course.”

“And you are who you are because of how you were raised. How could she trust you with her baby without trusting what you come from?”

His words seemed to sink into a place deep in her heart, easing and soothing. They rang true, and she knew he was right about what Jannie had intended.

“Jannie knew I was Amish,” she said slowly. “She was the only one out there who did know. She must have realized, must have thought all along that coming home was what I would do.”

“That is what I would think, from what you've said about her.”

“Denke, Samuel.” She looked into his face, gratitude welling in her. “Thank you.”

“There is something else I must say. Something you might not want to hear.” His voice was very grave. “Your friendship with the English woman . . . I don't think it is a gut thing.”

She could only stare at him. “Rosemary? Why would you say that? True, she did raise doubts in my mind, but that's just because she didn't understand. I'm sure she meant well.”

“When you are with her, you start to think like an Englischer again, ain't so?”

Think like an Englischer
. The words echoed. Maybe they were true. Maybe that's why they stung so much.

She straightened. Grateful as she was to Samuel, she wouldn't let him dictate who her friends were.

She managed a smile. “I appreciate your help. Now I had better let you get back to your work, and I'll get back to mine.”

She turned and walked quickly out of the barn.

•   •   •

“Komm,
komm.” Myra's hands fluttered as she gestured Samuel toward the bedroom. “The boppli's crib must go in the corner of our room, where I can get to it easily.”

Samuel carried the crib mattress through the doorway, his misgivings growing. “Myra, you have months to get the crib ready for the boppli. Why must we do it today?”

“Over here.” Myra ignored his question. “The crib must be here.” She sketched the shape of the crib with her hands against the wall.

He set the mattress down. “I will go and get the tools and the other pieces.”

“Ja, ja,” Myra said absently. She stared at the spot where the crib would go, smiling.

He hurried out of the room and back down the stairs, wishing he knew what was going on in his sister's mind. She had taken a sudden fancy to set up the crib she had borrowed from Barbara, since little Gracie now occupied the one that had been Sarah's. She didn't want Joseph doing all that bending, so she'd decided that Samuel must do it.

He glanced into the living room, where Joseph was keeping the two little girls occupied. Joseph met his eyes and gave a helpless shrug. He didn't know what to do, either.

If Anna were here, she might be better equipped to handle Myra's sudden whim, but Anna had gone over to Leah's house this morning to help her prepare for a party at the school.

Anna was never far from his thoughts these days. He sorted through the crib components, which Levi had stacked on the back porch, making sure all the bolts and nuts were there.

He'd gone over and over the conversation he and Anna had had in the barn yesterday, trying to assure himself that he'd said the right words. He could understand her worries about what the English woman had said. It was no simple matter, bringing up an English child to be Amish.

But Gracie had been Anna's child since she was born, and Anna had never stopped being Amish, despite her attempt to live in the English world. He believed with all his heart that what he'd told Anna was true. Her friend must have known that the way Anna was raised made her the person she was.

He carried an armload of crib bars up the stairs and into the bedroom. Myra still stood where he'd left her, looking with dreamy eyes at the place where the crib would go. Concern edged its way to worry.

“I'll get the rest of it,” he said, and escaped.

Coward,
he accused himself as he hurried down the steps. If Anna were here, she'd know what to do. He felt a flare of resentment that he knew was totally unreasonable. Anna had every right to go to Leah's or anywhere else this morning. He should just be relieved she wasn't back at Rosemary's again.

He wasn't wrong, was he, thinking that the Englischer's friendship wasn't best for Anna right now? Most Amish had some English friends,
but for Anna, so recently returned, he feared the lure of that other life might be too great.

Anna hadn't liked it when he'd said so. He'd seen the flare of resentment, quickly suppressed, in her eyes.

In the old days, Anna wouldn't have bothered to suppress it. Maybe that wouldn't have been so bad. At least then she wouldn't have been treating him with such cool politeness.

That bothered him more than he'd like to admit. Worse, it made him wonder whether his concern over that friendship was for Anna, or for himself.

He carted the rest of the crib pieces upstairs. He'd best concentrate on the job at hand. Worrying about Anna didn't get him any further, did it?

But he couldn't shake her from his mind so easily. He squatted, pulling the crib pieces together under Myra's watchful eyes.

“I will put Sarah's quilt on it for now,” she said. “But I'm going to make a new one, just for him. He'll like that, don't you think?”

“Ja.” Samuel's voice sounded strangled, and he cleared his throat. “When do you think Anna will be back?”

“Sometime this afternoon.” The faraway look faded from Myra's face, thank the gut Lord. She smiled. “You like our Anna, don't you?”

“I like her fine. Don't you go matchmaking, now.”

“Why not? Who else will say it to you, if not your own sister? You and Anna would make a fine pair.”

“Why?” He attached the side rail to the headboard. “Just because Anna needs a daadi for Gracie and I'm past the age of courting a teenager doesn't mean we're right for each other.”

“Don't be ferhoodled. Because you two fit together perfectly, that's why. I wouldn't have thought that three years ago, but you've both changed. You've grown into yourselves, in a way.”

“Maybe. Anna has grown and changed, that's certain-sure.” He stared at the screwdriver in his hand, wondering why he'd picked it up. “But I don't think the changes in me have made me any more suited to marriage. Maybe less, if anything.”

“Ach, Samuel, you must not think that.” Myra dropped to her knees next to him, startling him. “This is because of Daad, ja?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.” He tried not to say more, but the words seemed to press at his lips, wanting to come out. “You know what it did to us, him leaving like he did. What if I did that?”

“You wouldn't.”

The total confidence in her voice comforted him, but he couldn't let go of his fears so easily.

“Nobody would have thought that about Daad, either, but he did.”

Myra was silent for a moment. “Didn't anyone?”

That brought Samuel's startled glance to hers. “What do you mean?”

Her gaze slid away from his. “I . . . nothing. I shouldn't have said that.”

He took her chin in his hand, turning her face toward his. “Tell me. Did you know Daad was thinking about leaving?” It seemed incredible that little Myra would know something like that.

“Not know, exactly.” Her eyes darkened with the memory. “But sometimes when he was away from home working with the carpentry crews . . . well, when he came back, he talked differently. Like that other place out there was his real home.” She shook her head, as if bothered by her inability to explain it all. “And he wasn't so very gut at keeping his word, Samuel. We all knew that, even you.”

He opened his mouth to speak and closed it again. He didn't know what surprised him more, the fact that such words were coming from little Myra or that they rang so true.

“Daadi . . . maybe it's true that he didn't always do what he said he would.” His memory provided him with too many examples of that. “But there was always a gut reason. And he'd make it up afterward.”

Just saying the words made him see how lame they were. Could a man ever make up for not keeping his word?

“You see,” Myra said, as if she knew what he was thinking. “I loved Daadi, but I guess I always knew I couldn't count on him.” She put her hand on Samuel's arm. “It's harder for you. You were his favorite, and you'd have done anything to please him.”

Samuel wanted to deny it, but he couldn't. “If that's true . . .” His voice sounded like someone else's. He cleared his throat. “If that's true, it makes it even worse. I always wanted to be like him. What if I am?”

“Ach, don't be so foolish.” Her tone scolded lovingly. “Look at yourself. You've never broken your word one single time in your whole life. Everyone knows that about you, except maybe you.”

He shook his head. He couldn't sort it out. He needed time to get his mind around it.

“I'm not telling you what to do.” Myra patted his arm. “I just want you to be as happy as I am.” She reached out to touch the crib with a gentle caress. “I have Joseph, and Sarah, and a fine home. And now the new baby. My perfect little boy.”

Her words stabbed Samuel, chasing away every other preoccupation. “Myra, the doctor said—”

“Ach, don't even think about that. The doctor was wrong, that's all. I'm sure of it.”

“But Myra . . .”

She rose, hand cradling her belly. “Komm, get working on that crib so I can see how it looks. I will get the bedding for it.” She hurried from the room before he could say another word.

He sat down on the floor, feeling as if gentle Myra had just taken his heart and shaken it. First the revelation about his father, and now this . . .

He'd misjudged the situation with Myra, dismissing Anna's concerns. He should have listened to her. She'd been right.

They had to persuade Myra to get help, but how? His heart quailed at the thought of arguing with her about her baby.

He had to talk to Anna the minute she got back. Anna would know what to do.

A
nna
clucked at Myra's buggy horse, and the animal obediently picked up speed along the narrow road. It was surprising, really, how quickly she'd felt familiar with the horse and buggy again. After not driving a buggy in three years, the lines had felt odd in her hands at first, but now it was as if she'd never been away from it. The tension she'd felt after the near-miss coming home from the fair was still there, but it was under control.

She had to admit there was at least one advantage to driving a horse instead of a car. The horse had instincts a car never could. Myra's buggy horse was on her way home, and if she didn't stop her, the mare would keep going until she got there.

She had a stop to make, now that she'd delivered the baked goods to Leah for the school sale. She'd picked up a phone card the last time she went to the grocery store for Myra, so she could finally make a long distance call to Liz in Chicago.

A phone shanty stood at the intersection of two farm fields. She checked the horse and turned into the dirt lane that led to the shanty.

The idea of putting a telephone in a shed far from the house was so foreign to the English world that she was glad she didn't have to try to explain it to anyone. People out there made being constantly connected a necessity, as if they couldn't survive for even a few hours without cell phones and e-mail. She'd seen people in the restaurant trying to eat and talk on the phone at the same time, and ignoring the human being sitting across the table, like as not.

To the Amish, a telephone in the house would encourage idle chatter with others instead of concentration on the family. Still, they recognized
that a telephone was necessary for emergencies and sometimes for businesses. So the answer was simple—put the phone far enough away from the house so that one wouldn't be tempted to idle talk but near enough to be reached when needed.

Betsy, apparently deciding that the phone shanty was Anna's only possible destination, came to a stop next to it without being asked. Anna got down quickly, pulling the phone card from her pocket.

At last she could talk to Liz. Maybe hearing her friend's voice would erase the unsettled feeling that had haunted her lately.

Not lately. She ought to be honest with herself, at least. She'd been unsettled since the car had been hauled away, to be exact. It had taken her last illusion, irrational as it had been, that she still controlled her ability to come and go. And that conversation with Samuel certainly hadn't helped, either.

He had been so kind, so reassuring when she told him about what Rosemary had said. His calm, reasonable approach had comforted her. More, it had restored her faith in her own judgment.

Then he'd as much as told her she should drop her friendship with Rosemary, as if Anna were a child who needed his guidance. Or more likely from his viewpoint, a slightly defective Amish woman who couldn't be trusted to have an English friend without being lured back to that world.

Anna had thought they understood each other. She'd thought he was the one person she could count on for support. Well, she'd been wrong.

Irritation made her yank open the door to the phone shanty. She stepped inside. A plain black phone sat on a rough wooden shelf, a basic answering machine next to it. A blinking light suggested that the owner hadn't been by to check messages recently.

There was not even a stool to encourage anyone to stay and chat. She put the plastic card on the shelf next to the phone and breathed a silent prayer.

Please, let Liz be there. I need to talk to someone who will understand
.

The good Lord must have been listening, because Liz picked up on
the second ring. Longing swept through Anna at the sound of her voice. If she could see her right now, sit and talk . . .

“Liz. It's Annie. I'm so glad you're home.” Just saying the words made her feel like Annie again.

“Annie, thank goodness.” Liz's voice fairly leaped through the telephone receiver. “I've been going crazy wanting to talk to you. Why haven't you called?”

Anna skipped over the question, knowing she couldn't answer it in any way that Liz could understand. “What is it? What's wrong?” Her heart seemed to pick up speed at the urgency in Liz's words.

“It's Pete.” Liz's voice was controlled, but an effort. “He's been around again, trying to find out about you and the baby.”

Anna's heart thudded to her shoes. “Did you talk to him? What has he done?”

“Don't get excited. Honestly, I thought by this time he'd be long gone, but it hasn't worked out that way.”

“Liz, I'm so sorry—”

“Now you stop that.” Liz was brisk. “It's not your fault that idiot has slid over the edge into crazy. If he'd stop pickling his brain with drugs, maybe he could see sense for once.”

Anna found she was pushing the receiver against her head so hard that it hurt. “Did you talk to him? Did he threaten you?”

Liz snorted. “He tried. I'm not scared of a nutcase like him.”

Anna took a breath, trying to focus. Liz wasn't letting Pete scare her, and she couldn't either. “What exactly did he say?”

“Just the same as before. He kept saying Gracie was his baby and he wanted her.” Liz snorted again, expressing her opinion of Pete. “I told him he didn't know a thing about bringing up a baby and never would. I told him he didn't have a legal leg to stand on.”

“What did he say to that?” The walls of the shanty seemed to be closing in on her, and Anna had to force herself to breathe.

“That he wasn't counting on the law to get her back. That's why I had to talk to you, Annie. I had to tell you. I'm afraid that if he finds that baby, he's going to grab her and take off.”

“He's not going to find her.” Anna had to be sure of that. She had to. She closed her eyes, searching for the calm that eluded her.

“Annie, listen. When Pete realized he wasn't going to get anything out of me, he said he didn't need me anyway. That he'd figured out how to find you without help from anybody.”

An icy hand closed around Anna's heart. For a moment she couldn't speak. Gracie . . . She wanted to drop the phone, race home, grab the baby. Run. Run.

She couldn't. What good would that do, to run mindlessly?
Please, Lord. Help me to think
.

“Annie? Are you there? I tried to get him to tell me what he meant, but he wouldn't.”

“Yes. I'm here.” She took a breath. “He was bluffing. He had to be. There's no possible way he could guess where I am.”

No one in Chicago knew about her past. She'd told no one, just Jannie. Jannie wouldn't have said anything. If she had told Pete where Anna was from, surely he'd have come after her before this.

“Well, that's good. But regardless, you need to go to the cops.”

“I don't think . . .”

“Never mind thinking, just listen to me. Pete's a convicted felon who signed away his rights to the baby before she was even born. The police will help you. They'll give you some protection.”

Anna tried to imagine the reaction should an Amish woman go walking into the local police station. This wasn't an ordinary situation, but if she went to the police, she'd have to tell them everything about Jannie and Pete.

Anna had the legal papers. She could convince them, eventually, but how long would that take? If they made inquiries in Chicago, which they were bound to, her location might slip out.

And sooner or later it would leak out here. How could that help but happen? And her family would know all that she hadn't told them.

“I can't.” The words burst out. “I mean, it would just make things worse if people knew. Besides, I'm sure Pete couldn't know how to find me. We're safe here.”

Please, Lord, let me be right.

“I still think the cops—”

“I can't, really.”

Liz was silent for a long moment. Then she sighed. “Well, as long as Pete is wandering around the neighborhood here bothering people, we know he can't be coming after you. I can try to keep tabs on him, so we'll know if he sets out on any long trips. But you've got to give me a phone number where I can call you if anything happens.”

That was the one thing Anna couldn't do. “I can't. I mean, I don't have a phone.”

“Come on, Annie.” Liz's voice was laden with disbelief. “What are you doing, living in the dark ages? Everyone has a phone.”

“I don't. I'm sorry.” She rubbed her temple with the heel of her hand, trying to think.

“You don't want to give me an address, I suppose. But what about a neighbor? There must be somebody who could pass along a message to you. Don't you have a landlady or a super?”

There was Rosemary. She could give Liz Rosemary's number. But if she did, she'd have to tell Rosemary at least something of the truth.

For a second, Samuel's face formed in Anna's mind. What did it say about their relationship, if she confided in Rosemary and not in him? Maybe it said he was right in what he feared about her.

Gracie. She had to keep her mind on Gracie, no one else. She took a breath.

“I'll give you the number of a neighbor. You can trust her with a message for me.”

•   •   •

The
ban on telephones, annoying enough when she was a teenager and longed to be in touch with her friends, now seemed monumental. Anna turned the buggy into Joseph's lane. The horse, knowing the terrain as well as she did, picked up speed as she sensed her barn.

If Anna had called Liz sooner . . .

Still, what good would that have done? It wouldn't change the facts. Whatever was going on in the recesses of Pete's mind, he'd apparently become obsessed with the baby he'd never wanted.

Anna had had to give Liz Rosemary's number, no matter what Samuel thought of her relationship with the neighbor. Rosemary's telephone represented her only lifeline to Liz. If Pete really did know something about where Anna was, she had to have warning.

She'd intended to stop at Rosemary's on her way home, but Rosemary hadn't been there. It was unreasonable to feel so annoyed over that fact. Rosemary couldn't have known that Anna would need her.

Her hands were cold on the lines, despite the warmth of the day. What had she been thinking, trying to hide Gracie in a place where she couldn't even call for help in an emergency?

The horse slowed as the buggy neared the end of the lane. Samuel and Matthew appeared in the shop door. The boy ran to the horse's head while Samuel approached the buggy, looking up at Anna, his face tight.

“Matthew will take care of the horse and buggy for you.” His tone was abrupt. “Komm, please. I need to talk with you.” He held out a hand to help her down.

She had to yank her thoughts away from Gracie to concentrate on his words.

“In a bit, ja? I must go and check on Gracie first.” She needed to hold her daughter in her arms and feel that she was safe. The need was a physical ache.

“Gracie is napping.” He took her arm, urging her toward the shop. “Myra put her down not half an hour ago. This is important.”

Important. Her mind skittered from one thought to another as she let him lead her to the shop. What would Samuel consider important at this point? Had he glimpsed her buggy approaching Rosemary's house and decided to lecture her again?

The shop was dim after the bright sunshine outside. Before her eyes could adjust, Samuel turned to her, his figure no more than a dark bulk against the rectangle of light from the doorway.

She took a quick breath. If he thought he could dictate who she saw, he'd better think again.

“It's Myra.” His voice roughened with emotion. “Anna, you were right about her. We must do something.”

Now Anna saw what was in his face.
Fear
. He was afraid for Myra.

She reached out, touching his arm. It was like iron under her fingers. His control was holding, but she had a sense that it wasn't going to last for long.

“All right, tell me. Tell me what happened.”

He sucked in a breath. “She wanted me to put up that crib for her, so I was doing it.”

“Already?” Levi had brought the crib yesterday, but what was the hurry?

“She insisted. She started talking about the baby.” His eyes were dark with misery, and the look tugged at her heart. “Anna, I should have listened to you. I didn't. I thought I knew better.”

“That doesn't matter.” She shoved her own worries to the back of her mind. “Tell me what she said. She didn't try to hurt herself, did she?”

His face went white. “No!” A shudder went through him. “You don't think she would do that!”

“I don't, but we have to think of every possibility.”

“There was nothing like that. She seemed happy. Too happy, I thought. And then she started talking about how the doctor was wrong. How she was going to have a perfect baby boy.”

“Ja,” Anna said, her heart sinking. “I was afraid that's what she was thinking.”

“She's not accepting it. I thought she was coming to see that whatever happened, it was God's will. I thought that was why she seemed so calm now.” He sounded as miserable as Anna had ever heard him. “And all the while she was just convincing herself that it wasn't real.”

“Samuel, you have to understand. This news is just too hard to accept, so she has to make herself believe it isn't true.” Again Anna thought of Jannie's pretense that everything was all right.

Samuel shoved his hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. “I should have seen it. I know Myra better than anyone. Why didn't I see it?”

“You can't blame yourself.”

She'd wanted him to understand, but she hated seeing the pain in his face, hearing the blame in his voice. Samuel would fault himself—that
was inevitable. He always held himself to a higher standard than anyone else.