At Home in Pleasant Valley (9 page)

“Lydia, I didn't see you back there. This is Leah Beiler, the young woman John told us about. Leah, this is Lydia Weaver.”

“Leah is the teacher, I know,” Lydia said, coming toward them.

Her smile was piercingly sweet, lighting her plain face with an inward beauty. She wore a simple dark dress with low-heeled shoes, her graying hair short and swept back from a face that was frankly middle-aged and didn't attempt to hide that fact.

“Goodness, look at the time,” Dr. Brandenmyer exclaimed. “It's a good thing you stopped me, Lydia. I must go. I have a conference call with those researchers in Luzerne in a few minutes. John, you'd better come with me. Stacie can show Leah the charts and explain about the interviews.”

In an instant they were both gone. Stacie didn't look especially happy at being left behind. She shoved her chair, and it rolled to the next desk so quickly that Leah had to step out of the way.

“It's very simple, really,” she said, sounding doubtful that Leah could manage no matter how simple. “We'd expect you to visit families who have an instance of genetically linked illness and persuade them to cooperate. There's a family-tree form to fill out.” She shoved a paper into Leah's hands. “And an interview form.” She passed her another one. “We encourage all the members of the family to come in for DNA testing. You know what that is, don't you?”

Leah's hands tightened on the forms that had been thrust into her hands. This woman didn't like her, and she wasn't sure why. Because she was Amish? Plenty of Englischers were prejudiced against the Amish, but this would be a funny place to work if you felt that way.

Or did this have something to do with Johnny?

“I said do you know about DNA testing?”

“Yes.”

Leah clipped off the word and put the papers down on the desk carefully because she wanted to throw them. If Johnny thought she'd be convinced to help them by making her the object of condescension and rudeness, he was mistaken.

“I'm sure there's time for all of these explanations once Leah has had a chance to think about this,” Lydia interrupted smoothly. “I always have a cup of tea about this time.” She touched Leah's arm lightly. “Please, come and join me.”

Leah would rather leave, but she would not return rudeness for rudeness by saying so. “That is very kind of you.”

With the sense that the woman had unexpectedly come to her rescue, Leah went with her.

•   •   •

Lydia
led the way into yet another office, but this one was totally different. There was not a computer in sight. The room was simplicity itself, with off-white walls and matching fabric shades on the windows, drawn up to give a view across green pasture. In the distance, an old orchard spread along the hillside, its apple trees gnarled and bent, but still bearing blossoms.

There were blossoms inside, as well, with pots of African violets filling the windowsills. Though there was a desk in the far corner near crowded bookshelves, the focus of the room seemed to be two comfortable-looking padded rockers on an oval hooked rug.

“I like your office.” At an inviting gesture from Lydia, Leah sank into one of the rockers. Its bentwood back fit her perfectly.

“My aim was to make it look as little like an office as possible.”

Lydia turned on what seemed to be an electric kettle and put two mugs on a tray. Her movements were slow and smooth. Calming.

Leah leaned her head back, feeling the last of her stress drain away. “You succeeded. It's peaceful here.” She hesitated. “You rescued me. That was kind of you.”

Lydia opened a tin and began arranging cookies on a plate. “You looked as if you needed it. I'm afraid this place can be overwhelming.”

“Ja.” The word was heartfelt.

“I've noticed that scientists become so focused on their own subject that they're totally unaware of other people's reactions.” The kettle was boiling already, and she poured hot water into the cups. “You can be staring at them with a totally blank expression, and they'll just keep talking.”

That surprised Leah into a laugh. “I'm afraid blank is a wonderful gut description of how I felt when they started talking about the computers.”

“I'm a little familiar with computers, but I confess, the complex programs John and Stacie work with are beyond me.”

Lydia carried the tray to the small, round table that stood between the rockers and put a steaming mug down next to Leah.

Once Leah had taken the tea and an obviously homemade oatmeal cookie, Lydia served herself and sank back in the other rocker.

“That's better. I always want a break in the late afternoon.”

“This is pleasant.” Leah looked at the woman, curious. “You talk about the scientists as if they're different from you, but you work here, don't you?”

“Yes, but I'm a psychologist, not a genetics researcher. I help the families and the children cope with the difficulties of their situation.”

“It is very hard,” Leah agreed. “I know of several children who ought to be in my school, but their condition doesn't permit. I try to do what I can, taking them books and learning activities, but it's not enough.”

Lydia nodded in understanding. “Whatever we do never seems enough, does it? Still, no matter what their condition, the children are a blessing. And those we lose—well, they're safe in the hands of Jesus.”

Leah studied the woman, caught by the turn of phrase, the way she dressed, even the way she sat. “Lydia, are you . . .”

She stopped, realizing that the question she wanted to ask might be considered rude.

“Am I Plain?” Lydia finished the question for her, smiling. “I was raised Amish, yes.” She shrugged. “But I wanted more education, more choices about the life I would have. So I chose not to join the church.”

“Are you—” Questions flooded her mind. “Do you have a relationship with your family?”

“Oh, yes. It took some time, but we're close now. They live in Indiana, so I don't see them as often as I'd like, but we write often, and my nieces and nephews visit in the summer.”

“That's gut.”

At least, she supposed it was. So far, Johnny didn't have that chance,
but perhaps it would come, given a little patience. Unfortunately, patience had never been one of his strong points.

“You're happy?”

Lydia considered the question. “Not entirely, I suppose. Sometimes I long to be an Amish woman again, sitting in my own kitchen with my children around me. But none of us gets everything we want, Amish or English. I am content. And I'm very satisfied to be part of the work we're doing here.”

“I know that it is important work.” Leah stared down at the dark brew in her cup, a little troubled. “But I'm not sure it is right for me.”

For a long moment Lydia didn't speak. Then she nodded. “I understand. It would be difficult for you in any event, but having John here makes it worse.”

She wanted to deny it, but Lydia saw too much. Or maybe Johnny had been talking about her. That thought was distasteful.

Lydia's chair rocked as she patted Leah's hand. “Think about it. Pray about it. See what God's answer is. That's all we can ask of you.”

Leah managed a smile, grateful that Lydia, at least, didn't intend to pressure her. “All right. That I will do.”

H
e
shouldn't be letting his mind stray to Teacher Leah when he was worshipping, Daniel reminded himself. He would not glance toward the other side of the aisle to where the women sat, even though he knew perfectly well that she was on the fifth bench back, sitting on the end of the row next to her mother.

His interest was only drawn in that direction because Elizabeth had asked to sit with Teacher Leah, he reasoned. Instead of staying with her father and the boys, she wanted to be on the women's side of the barn for the worship service, like a grown-up woman.

The Miller family's large barn had been cleaned and scrubbed until it shone, so that it would be ready to host the service today. The backless benches, which would have arrived by wagon sometime during the week, were arranged in rows so straight that someone might have measured the distance between each of them. When they'd entered, black copies of the Ausbund, the songbook, lay on each bench, ready for the singing.

With the number of families in the district and the every-other-Sunday schedule for worship, Daniel would estimate each family's turn probably came around only once a year. Twenty-six families was considered ideal for a district back home for that reason, but often the number went up or down a few. If it went up too many, or the homes were too far apart for everyone to make the drive easily by horse and buggy, the district would have to be split into two congregations.

He'd not be added into the schedule here in Pleasant Valley until next year, but when the time came, he'd have to use the barn, just as the Millers did. Some of the brethren had homes large enough to hold
worship in, but that seemed to be more common back in Lancaster County, where houses were built with that in mind.

The three-hour service was drawing to a close, as one of their three ministers concluded his sermon. Jonah sagged against Daniel, and he put his arm around the boy. Little ones couldn't help but grow sleepy during the long service with its slow hymns. Jonah would liven up plenty when it came time to eat.

He felt his gaze stray toward Leah again, and he pulled it back. He hadn't seen her to speak to in more than a week. He'd best be honest with himself about it. The reason he felt so compelled to see her now was plain and simple—guilt.

He'd misjudged her when he'd found her with Elizabeth that day of the moving. He'd thought she'd overstepped her boundaries, prying into his grief by talking to his daughter instead of calling him and leaving it to him to deal with.

It had been a few days later when he'd brought up the subject with Elizabeth, hoping she was ready to talk about it, and learned that Elizabeth, upset at hearing folk talk, had asked for Leah. Not him. That bitter pill still choked in his throat when he thought of it.

Gracious Lord, guide me to deal with these children You've given me. I hoped everything would be fine once I had them back with me, but it's been hard. Each day I question whether I'm doing the right thing.

They are my responsibility, Lord, given by You into my care. Guide my words and my choices.

That couldn't be the extent of his prayer, and he knew it. He'd wronged Leah in his thoughts and in his attitude, and that must be confessed.

Forgive me, Dear Father, for my hasty thoughts and attitudes where Teacher Leah is concerned. I was wrong. Forgive me.

He stared down at his hand, clenched on the black fabric of the broadfall trousers of his best suit. That wasn't enough. His confession wouldn't be complete until he'd mended matters with Leah herself.

He stood with the others for the final prayer, lifting Jonah in his arms as Bishop Mose spoke the words. Maybe he'd be able to speak with Leah during the visiting that went on before the brethren sat down for lunch. He had to mend things with her.

“Komm.” He grasped the boys' hands, and the community surged out of the barn into the sunshine.

Jonah tugged at his hand. “My friends from school are here, Daadi. Can I go and see them?”

“Ja, both of you can go. Just mind you komm schnell when the lunch is served.”

Elizabeth, he noted, had already gone over to the picnic tables, probably offering to help. She was very much the little mammi already.

He glanced around. Women were intent on helping with the lunch, while men gathered to catch up on the week's events. He spotted Leah, carrying a large jar of what looked like lemonade from her buggy. This might be his best chance for a private talk, although he hadn't figured out the right words yet.

He walked toward her, hoping it didn't look to the others as if he were seeking her out.

“May I carry that for you?” He reached for the jar as he spoke.

Leah looked up at him, green eyes wide and unguarded for an instant. Then her gaze slipped away from his. “I can manage.”

She wasn't going to make this easy, but that was only fair.

“I know that you can carry it, but helping gives me an opportunity to speak with you.”

Again that startled look, but she surrendered the jar without further argument. They moved together toward the tables.

“Is there a problem with the children?”

That would always be her first concern, of course. She only thought of him, if she thought of him at all, as the father of his children.

“The children are well. I am not. I must apologize to you.”

“You mean about what happened with Elizabeth last Saturday.” She stopped under the shade of an overhanging willow tree, and he stopped with her.

“I was rude to you when you were trying to help. That wasn't fair.”

“It's all right.” Her quick forgiveness shamed him. “You were concerned about your daughter. You felt you should have been told about her immediately. That's natural.”

“She told me she asked your sister to find you. And not to tell me.”
He tried to keep the hurt out of his voice but probably didn't succeed very well.

Leah's eyes darkened with concern. “Anna didn't know what else to do. Elizabeth was so upset that she felt it best to do as she wanted.”

“Elizabeth asked for you. Not me.” The words came out flatly. He hadn't intended to say that, but Leah's obvious caring made it easier than he'd expected to bring up the thing that still pained him.

Leah looked up at him, her gaze filled with sympathy. The leaves of the willow, moving in the breeze, dappled her face.

“I understand that bothers you, Daniel, but I'm sure Elizabeth was trying to protect you. She knew you would be worried if you realized how upset she'd become. She didn't want to hurt you.”

“I hope that's all it was.” His throat tightened, and the worries he had for his children rushed in upon him. “Those years we were apart— I don't know what they've done to my relationship with my children.”

He was sorry he'd spoken the instant the words were out of his mouth. It sounded as if he was inviting Leah to help him, and he didn't want that. He was the father. He had to figure this out for himself.

“You love them,” she said quietly. “That's the most important thing.”

“Ja.” He grappled for steadier ground. “We will be all right. We just need time.”

“Time to adjust.” She seemed to agree, but her eyes were troubled. “Elizabeth and Matthew struggle more than Jonah, because they're older. Elizabeth is trying so hard to be perfect that it concerns me.”

He took a step back. “She's a helpful and conscientious child. That's a gut thing.”

“Sometimes it's too much of a gut thing.” She softened the words with a smile.

Still, they annoyed him. He had not asked for advice. Leah, however well-intentioned, was not a parent.

“You are kind to be concerned about my children. But I think you have enough worries of your own about your sister.”

Her chin came up at that. “Elizabeth told you about Anna's friend.”

“Ja, she did.” He paused, struggling to be fair. “She said that he was kind to her. But he was English.”

“Anna did not invite him to meet her in the barn, if that's what you're thinking.” She paused, probably trying to get her irritation under control. “But you're right. We do each have our own problems to deal with.”

Taking the jar of lemonade, she walked quickly over to the picnic tables, her back very straight.

•   •   •

Leah
reached the picnic table and set down the lemonade. As was traditional, the host family had prepared a cold lunch. There were trays of bologna and Swiss cheese already on the table, and Naomi Miller came out the back door of the farmhouse, carrying baskets of whole wheat and white bread.

“Naomi, I don't know how you found the time to bake two kinds of bread.”

Naomi Miller was busier than most young mothers, since two of her three preschool-aged children were among those in the valley suffering from the Crigler-Najjar illness.

“Ach, what I would do without my mother-in-law, I don't know,” Naomi said, putting the tray on the table. “Her baking is wonderful gut, it is.” Her eyes twinkled. “And your Mahlon will soon be as fortunate as I am, I think.”

“Shh,” Leah whispered, smiling. “Mahlon thinks no one has figured it out yet. As if no one notices him and Esther looking at each other all the time.”

“Or the amount of celery my husband's daad has planted this year.” She turned to go back to the house, probably for more food.

Leah caught her arm. “Since you and I are almost family, let me help bring things out.”

“That is kind of you, Leah.” One of her young ones rushed up to grasp her skirt just then, and she nodded. “Everything is on the kitchen table.”

Leah went quickly into the house. She would have offered to help in any event, but she was just as happy to be safely away from the group for a moment. That exchange with Daniel had shaken her more than she wanted to admit.

He knew about Anna and the Englischer. Well, that in itself was not so bad. As Anna herself had said, it was her rumspringa. Such goings-on were tolerated, if not welcomed, by the community. Parents turned their eyes away and prayed for the best.

The danger lay in what Anna made of the situation.
I might be in love,
she'd said. It was tempting to believe that her younger sister wasn't old enough to know what love was, but she'd been Anna's age when she'd fallen in love with Johnny.

And look how that had turned out. She certainly couldn't hold herself up as any sort of example.

Sometimes I think you don't have any feelings at all.

Anna's words echoed relentlessly in her heart. The very fact that she couldn't forget them told her that she feared they were true. Certainly Johnny would have agreed with that, once at least.

And now? Well, now he simply didn't care.

Forcing herself to move, she picked up a tray and began filling it with the dishes on the table. Naomi, and perhaps her mother-in-law, had gone all out. There were sweet pickles and dill pickles, red beets, even peanut butter and strawberry jelly for the children. Additional plates were filled with sweets: pumpkin, chocolate chip, and sugar cookies.

She gripped the tray, but for a moment didn't move. Whether others would accept Anna's flirtation or not, Daniel was the worst person to trust with it.

She could understand why he felt as he did. With just the little she knew about his wife's jumping the fence to the outside world and taking the children with her, the reason for his feelings was clear. She could sympathize with his pain.

But she wished he didn't know about Anna.

She started out the door with the filled tray and nearly bumped into Elizabeth, coming in.

The child looked up at her, small face intent. “Naomi said that I could help carry things out.”

“That's kind of you, Elizabeth, but wouldn't you rather play with the other scholars? I can take everything out.”

“But I said I would help.” Elizabeth's lower lip trembled. “I must do as I said.”

“Ser gut,” Leah said quickly. “You can take the plates of cookies that are on the table.”

Elizabeth nodded and hurried to the table. Leah watched as she picked up the first plate carefully, holding it with both hands.

Dear Father, help me to understand this child. There is something not right about her frantic need to be good. Help me to see.

And if she did see, would Daniel listen to her? The way things were going, she doubted it.

She shoved through the screen door, holding it open against her hip while Elizabeth came out. They carried their burdens to the picnic tables, where people already clustered, plates at the ready.

Naomi seized the tray, putting its contents quickly on the table, the bishop lifted his voice in prayer, and the fellowship meal began.

In spite of her concerns about Daniel and his children and her worries about Anna, Leah began to relax. This time—this bonding with her community—was surely one of the great strengths of Amish life. Sharing worship and a common meal, they did what the earliest followers of Jesus did, and it built the ties between them more surely with every bite, every joke, every shared story.

By the time folks were settling into groups with their coffee and cookies, the peace of the day had calmed Leah. She sat down next to Naomi, who had her five-year-old son on her lap. Leah reached over to stroke light brown hair out of the boy's eyes.

“Eli, will you be coming to school in the fall?”

Eli burrowed his face in his mother's shoulder.

“Ach, now, answer Teacher Leah,” Naomi chided.

The boy stole a glance at her face. “Ja, Teacher Leah,” he whispered.

She smiled. “I will be glad to have you in my class, I will.”

“You will be teaching in the fall, then?” Naomi asked.

Leah blinked. “Ja, of course I will, for sure. Why not?”