Susanna's Dream: The Lost Sisters of Pleasant Valley, Book Two (4 page)

“Maybe you’re right,” she said, hoping to pacify Dora. But she certainly wouldn’t count on it.

More to the point, was all this talk about Susanna’s marriage prospects a prelude to breaking the news that Dora was thinking to give up the shop? She wanted to ask, but she was afraid to hear the answer.

“Well, I think . . .” Dora’s voice trailed off oddly.

Susanna, spinning toward her, saw pallor sweep across Dora’s normally ruddy face, bleaching it of color.

“Was ist letz?” She rushed to take Dora’s arm. “Komm, sit.” She shoved a step stool out from under the nearest counter.

“Chust a little dizzy-like,” Dora muttered, sinking onto the stool.

Then, before Susanna could do a thing about it, she sank right on down to the floor.

“Dora!” Terror seized her throat, so that she felt she couldn’t take a breath. She dropped to her knees, grasping Dora’s wrist to feel for a pulse. “Dora, say something.”

Dora’s eyelids fluttered, as if she was trying to respond and couldn’t.

What should she do? Stay with her? Run for help? If she left—

The bell jangled. Feet rushed across the shop toward them, and then Chloe was kneeling next to her.

“What happened?” She was already pulling a cell phone from her bag. “I’ll call 911.”

“No.” Dora’s voice was a thready whisper, but her eyes were open. “No ambulance.”

Susanna exchanged looks with Chloe. Do it anyway? Chloe seemed to wait for her to make the decision.

“Call her son,” she said. “There’s a phone at his store.” She gave the number quickly, and then turned to Dora, patting her hand. Nathaniel would know what to do.

“It’s going to be all right,” she said, trying to sound more positive than she felt. “Chloe’s calling Nathaniel. He’ll be here in a few minutes, I know.”

Dora shook her head slowly, frowning as if trying to concentrate. “Nate will fuss,” she murmured.

“Only because he loves you,” she said. “Just lie still. I’ll get a pillow for your head.”

Almost before she got the words out, Chloe was handing her one of the quilted pillows from the display.

“He’s on his way,” Chloe said softly. “He said he’d bring a car and driver. I tried to tell him I’d be glad to drive, but he didn’t listen.”

Susanna suspected that listening wasn’t one of Nate’s strong points, but of course he almost always had a driver available, because he had several Englischers who did deliveries for him. “Denke, Chloe. I mean, thank you. That’s kind of you.”

Chloe’s smile flickered, and she patted Susanna’s shoulder. “I do know what it means. What about a blanket? Dora, are you chilly?”

“A little,” Dora muttered. “What am I doing on the floor?”

“You fainted. You’ll be better soon.” Susanna’s heart ached at the confusion in Dora’s face, and she murmured a silent prayer.

“Here.” Chloe knelt with a woven throw in her hands, draping it over Dora’s body. “This will keep you more comfortable.”

“I should get up. What if a customer comes in?” Dora’s voice was stronger, and she attempted to raise herself.

“No, no.” Susanna eased her back down. “You might get dizzy. Just rest for a few more minutes.” Hopefully Nate would be there by then.

“I feel so foolish,” Dora muttered, sounding more like herself every moment.

Before Susanna could answer, the door flew open with such force that the bell nearly jangled off its hook. Nathaniel surged into the shop, seeming to fill the room with his physical presence.

“Mamm, are you all right?” He glared at Susanna. “Why is she lying on the floor? She’ll get chilled.”

She couldn’t take offense at his tone, not when she knew it came from his fear for his mother.

“We were afraid she’d be dizzy again if she tried to get upright,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Best not to move her suddenly.”

He frowned, but nodded. “I should get the emergency squad—”

“No.” Dora’s tone was decided. “I’m not going to let them cart me out of here on a stretcher. I’m fine.” Some of the color was back in her face, and she seemed to be improving every moment.

“The hospital, then. I have a car and driver outside. We’ll take you straight there.”

“So I can sit in an emergency room for an hour? No, thank you. Just take me home. A nap is all I need.” She managed to get up onto her elbows, not seeming to feel any ill effects, and frowned at her son.

“Don’t be ferhoodled.” He frowned back, the two of them looking remarkably alike in expression. “The hospital—”

“Why don’t you take her to her own doctor?” Susanna suggested. “If this is a reaction to her new medicine, he’ll know best what to do. We can call ahead so he expects her.”

Nate stood, apparently for the sole purpose of frowning down at her. “I know best for my mother.”

“Getting her more upset won’t help her,” Susanna pointed out.

“I will go to the doctor,” Dora announced, sitting up with Chloe’s help.

Nate held out for another second, and then he shrugged. “Ja, have it your way.”

Before Dora could resist, Nate bent and scooped her up in his arms. Holding her easily as he straightened, he glanced at Susanna, and she had no difficulty in reading his expression.

You see, I was right.
That was what he was thinking.
It’s time she retired.

Nate strode toward the door. Susanna hurried to hold it open for them and then followed to help him get Dora settled in the backseat. Susanna recognized Jack Shaffer, one of the retired Englischers who did deliveries, behind the wheel. Nate climbed in next to his mother, and Susanna watched until they were out of sight, managing to keep a smile on her face.

Then, once they were gone, she could feel herself crumbling.

Chloe nudged her back inside. She reached out to flip the sign on the door to
CLOSED
, and then put her arm around Susanna and steered her firmly toward the back room.

“I shouldn’t close in the middle of the day,” she protested.

“Any real customers will wait. They’d probably just be the curious if they saw Dora’s son carrying her out of here anyway. You don’t want to answer a lot of questions.”

“I suppose you’re right, but . . .”

“No buts. You’ll sit down. You can use my cell phone to call Dora’s doctor. Meanwhile, I’ll make you a cup of tea. You need a little recuperation time, too.”

Susanna managed a shaky laugh. “I do feel a bit bowled over. It was so scary to see Dora pass out. One minute she was talking perfectly normally, and the next she was on the floor.”

Chloe pushed her into the rocking chair and began to assemble the tea on the small stove in the back room. She’d shared a cup often enough with Susanna and Dora to know where things were. Susanna placed the call, explained matters to the doctor’s receptionist, and then was glad to lean back and let her thoughts go where they would.

Unfortunately, where they chose to go was in the direction of what would happen now. Nate was no doubt convinced that this incident proved his point. He’d be even more determined to get his mother to give up the shop.

Susanna leaned her head on her hand. Naturally she couldn’t want Dora to hang on to the shop just for her sake. If it was best for Dora to give it up, then Susanna would have no choice. She brooded over it, trying to see a solution.

Chloe pressed a steaming mug into her hand, and she took it automatically. The first sip seemed to ease the tightness in her throat.

“You’re thinking this makes it more likely that Dora will have to give up the shop, aren’t you?” Chloe perched on the edge of Dora’s usual chair, looking a bit out of place in denim jeans and a bright blue sweater.

“I suppose so.” Susanna rubbed her forehead. “I wish I knew what to do.”

“I take it you can’t afford to buy her out right now,” Chloe said, with an air of fearing she was going too far.

“No, not now. Maybe in a few years, but I’m beginning to fear I don’t have a few years.”

“You might take out a loan. Or I’d be glad to help, if I can.”

Susanna’s cheeks grew warm at the thought of accepting what amounted to charity from an Englischer. “I . . . I couldn’t impose on you. You hardly know me.”

Chloe sucked in a deep breath, like a swimmer about to plunge underwater. “I know you better than you think, Susanna. We . . . Lydia Beachy and I . . . We thought we shouldn’t tell you when your mother was so ill. But the truth of it is that we’re not strangers. We’re your sisters.”

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

C
hloe
held her breath, praying she hadn’t made a mistake in telling Susanna the truth. All she wanted was to help her sister, and surely this was the right way to go about it.

Uneasiness stirred. Susanna wasn’t reacting at all. She sat and stared, the cup seeming forgotten in her hand. The deep blue of her eyes had grown even darker.

“Susanna, did you hear me? Lydia and I are your sisters.” Still no response. “I . . . I guess I shouldn’t have blurted it out. We were adopted—you, and Lydia, and me—after our parents died in a van accident.”

Susanna shook her head slowly. “This can’t be true. I would know. Mamm and Daad would have told me.”

“I’m not sure why they didn’t.” She’d have to tread carefully around that part of it. “Lydia is the oldest. She was five when it happened. She had a head injury, and she doesn’t remember anything from before the accident. She was adopted by our father’s brother and his wife. She knew about our parents, but they didn’t tell her about her little sisters.”

A hint of a spark came into Susanna’s eyes, her expression growing more normal. Still, she shook her head. “It is some sort of mistake. I’m sorry, but you’re wrong. I have no sisters.”

The words hit Chloe like a slap. At least Susanna wasn’t jumping to the instant conclusion that this was all a scam, the way she had when Seth had told her. Maybe a woman raised Amish wouldn’t think that way.

“Lydia found out quite by accident. Her adoptive parents told her the whole story then. Relatives and friends had rushed to the place out in Ohio where the accident happened. We three were in different hospitals, and I guess there was a lot of confusion. In the midst of that, our Englisch grandmother, our mother’s mother, took me away.” She tried to keep her voice clear of bitterness. “She never told me the truth about my family.”

Susanna’s gaze finally focused on Chloe’s face. Maybe she was starting to take it in. “How did you learn this story, then?”

All she could do now was to forge ahead and hope for the best. “Once Lydia knew the truth, her first thought was to find us. An Englisch neighbor of hers, Seth Miller, offered to help locate me. He’s the one who came to Philadelphia to tell me.”

“You’re telling me that is why Lydia came to my shop that first time? Because she believed I was her sister?”

Chloe nodded, uneasily aware that their actions in befriending Susanna might be considered stalking in some circles. But well meant, after all. “Not just believed, Susanna. The bishop in Pleasant Valley confirmed everything. He told her where to find you.”

Susanna set her cup on the table, as if buying time. “Then why didn’t she tell me this herself that first time? Why have you both been lying to me?”

“Not lying,” Chloe protested, knowing it was feeble. “We were just trying to get to know you. We felt we shouldn’t disrupt your life when your mother was so ill.”

Anger flared in Susanna’s face. “So you didn’t say anything when I could still ask my mamm about it. Instead you’ve left me with questions that can never be answered.”

“I . . . I’m sorry if we did wrong. I know how upsetting it was for Lydia and for me to learn the truth. We wanted to find the right time.”

Judging by the expression on Susanna’s face, this hadn’t been it. She should never have let herself be carried away by her impulsiveness. She should have waited and talked to Lydia first. Seth had been right, little though she wanted to admit it.

Chloe took a step closer to Susanna, longing to touch her but not daring. “I just wanted you to know that you have a family who want to help you. That’s all.”

Susanna wrapped her arms around herself in a protective gesture. “I don’t want help from strangers.” Her voice was tight, and she shook her head. “I can’t talk about this any longer. Please leave.”

A dozen things she might say darted through Chloe’s mind. None of them would do any good. She’d failed.

Blinking to hold back the tears that wanted to spill over, Chloe fled.

* * *

The
only way Nate could keep his mother from stopping back at the shop that afternoon was to promise he’d go himself to assure Susanna that she was all right. So, having seen Mamm tucked up in her chair at home with the newspaper and her mending basket, Nate set off to pay yet another visit to Plain Gifts.

Not that he felt it was necessary, but doing as Mamm said gave him the opportunity to point out to Susanna that he’d been right all along. It was past time for Mamm to come to her senses, give up the shop, and let him take care of her.

He’d make it clear to Susanna that changes were coming, and she’d best accept that fact. He’d been taken off guard by Susanna’s resistance when he’d first brought up the subject. Not this time.

But all thoughts of his mission flew out of his mind when he stepped inside the shop. Susanna stood on a step stool, apparently trying to reach the baskets hung above the display shelves. She turned at the sound of the bell, teetering awkwardly as she grabbed a shelf for balance.

Nate rushed over, reaching out automatically, and was rather surprised to find his hands encircling her slim waist. “You shouldn’t be climbing up there.” He reverted to scolding to hide the awkwardness of the moment as he lifted her down. “It’s dangerous.”

“Only if I’m surprised.” Her creamy skin flushed with embarrassment.

At his touching her? Or because she’d displayed her disability in front of him?

Nate took a step back, brushing against a stack of quilted pot holders and knocking some of them over. As usual, he felt like a bull in a china shop when he was here.

“I’m sorry I startled you,” he said, mindful that he wanted to explain matters to Susanna, not wrangle with her.

“No, it’s my fault.” She glanced down, brushing off her spotless apron—so she wouldn’t have to look at him, most likely.

The action didn’t keep him from looking at her, though. Her flawless skin was still flushed a delicate pink. She had a heart-shaped face and a little dimple in her cheek. Funny that he’d never looked at her so closely before, maybe because she made such a habit of effacing herself.

Except when challenged, he reminded himself, thinking of her reaction to his plans for his mother. Still, after what had happened today, Susanna would have to agree that he knew best.

“How is your mother?” she asked before he could speak. “She didn’t have to go to the hospital, did she?”

Her obvious concern made him want to reassure her. “No, nothing was said about the hospital. The doctor ran a couple of tests, but he seems sure she’ll be fine. She’s just supposed to take it a little slow until she’s adjusted to the new medicine.”

Relief filled Susanna’s deep blue eyes. “I’m so glad. It was wonderful kind of you to stop by and tell me.”

Nate found himself smiling. “It was the only way I could keep my mother from coming herself, as you might have guessed.”

Susanna’s answering smile displayed the dimple even more. “Dora has a will of her own, that’s certain-sure.”

Now was the moment to say what he’d come to say. But before he could, she’d gone on. “Give her my love, and tell her not to worry about the shop. I’ll handle everything until she comes back.”

If she came back, he thought. Susanna, seeming to assume he was leaving, turned to straighten the stool, as if preparing to climb it.

“You’re not going up there again.” He grasped the stool and pulled it out of reach. “That’s too dangerous for you.”

“My limp doesn’t make me helpless.” The glint in her eyes said this was another topic on which she had a strong opinion. Why had he never seen this side of Susanna before?

“The stool is too rickety for anyone to be standing on.” He took refuge in a half truth. “I’ll bring over a good step stool from the store. Meantime, tell me what you want, and I’ll get it for you.”

Susanna pressed her lips together for a second, and then she nodded. “Denke, Nate. The baskets, if you would, please. I have a customer coming in to pick up a pillow she’d ordered made.”

He handed down the baskets one at a time. “What does that have to do with baskets?”

“It happens we know this particular customer loves baskets. These are new ones we’ve gotten in, and if I put them on the counter where I’ll be ringing up the pillow . . .”

“You’ll likely make another sale.” He was interested in her sales technique in spite of himself. “That’s clever. Not sure it would work for my bulk goods, though.”

She nodded, arranging the baskets along the counter. “Folks come to you for things they have to have, like food. Our customers are more likely to buy something for a gift or just because it appeals to them.”

He was letting himself be distracted again from his purpose, but it was interesting. “You deal with more Englisch, I guess. Like the woman who was here this morning when Mamm took sick. She wasn’t a local, was she?”

It was a casual question, and he wasn’t prepared for the response it got. Susanna paled, her eyes seeming to grow darker as he looked at her.

“Chloe . . . Chloe recently moved in down the street.” She put her hand to her lips, as if to hide some emotion.

Nate stood for a moment, frowning a little. Whatever troubled Susanna wasn’t his business. He should say what he’d come to say and get out.

On the other hand, he knew how much his mother cared for her young partner. And Susanna looked so vulnerable that he couldn’t just ignore how upset she was.

“Something troubles you about the woman,” he said carefully. A disgruntled customer? A shoplifter? “You may not want to talk about it, but if there’s a problem, I’ll help if I can.”

For a moment he could see her struggling to hold back. Then she let out a shaky breath. “I guess I could stand to tell someone about it. I can’t trouble your mamm with it now, and there isn’t . . .”

She let that die out, but he could guess the rest. Susanna was oddly isolated for an Amish woman, with no family nearby, no spouse, no girlhood friends to rely on.

“Whatever it is, I can at least listen.” He leaned against the counter, waiting.

“Denke.” She pressed her hand against her forehead. “It’s all so odd that I can’t quite believe it happened, let alone think what to do about it.”

“The woman said something that upset you,” he prompted.

“Ja. She said . . . She said she is my sister.”

He stared at her, his mind refusing to process it. “She said you are her sister? Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand?”

“I almost wish I had.” Susanna’s voice got a bit stronger, as if deciding to tell him had given her strength. “Her name is Chloe Wentworth. She moved here not long ago, and she’s writing some kind of paper about Amish crafts and the people who make them. Your mamm and I have helped her some, letting her take photos of our stock and introducing her to some of the people who make things for us.”

“Ja, I remember Mamm mentioning something about it.” Mamm had seemed to like the woman, he’d thought.

“Chloe said that she hadn’t known very long herself about it. That Lydia Beachy, from over in Pleasant Valley, is also our sister. That our real parents were killed in an accident when we were small, and we were split up and adopted by different families.”

He frowned. “Is that the Beachy that has the apple orchard?”

“Ja, Lydia and Adam Beachy. Do you know them?”

“We get apples and cider from them for the store.” He frowned, trying to pin down a fragment of memory. “Seems to me I did hear something about an Englisch relative coming to visit them. But still, this seems like a fanciful story, coming out of the blue.”

“Chloe said that they waited to tell me because my mamm was so sick.” Tears filled her eyes. “But now I can’t even ask her if it’s true.”

“I’m sorry.” He patted her arm awkwardly, wanting to stem her tears and not sure how to do it. How would he feel in such a situation? “I guess the thing to ask is whether you really want to find out, or just ignore it.”

Susanna blinked back the tears. “At first I wanted to wipe it away. But I can’t, can I? I have to know. If my parents kept it from me all these years—well, I have to understand.”

Little wonder she’d been upset, with an Englischer she hardly knew coming to her with such a tale. There were troubled people in the world, after all, and he was quite ready to believe this woman was one of them. But Adam and Lydia Beachy wouldn’t be involved in anything that wasn’t right.

“If you were to go to Lydia Beachy . . .” he began.

Susanna made a pushing-away gesture. “I don’t think I can. It was hard enough hearing it from Chloe.”

He thought he understood. “You need someone who knows but isn’t so involved, ja? What about Bishop Mose?”

“Bishop Mose?” she repeated, looking a bit confused.

“The bishop over in Pleasant Valley,” he explained. “You can’t tell me this is going on among his people without his knowing about it.”

“Chloe did say something about the bishop telling Lydia how to find me. So he must know about it.” Susanna rubbed her arms. “It’s just . . . ferhoodled, thinking other folks might know something about me that I don’t know myself.”

Susanna was sounding more controlled, and she looked better, as if talking it over with him had helped her get a hold on the situation. The tears had gone, for now at least.

“Talk to Bishop Mose, that’s my advice. You can depend on him to tell you the truth.” He hesitated, but discovered that he couldn’t leave Susanna’s worries so easily. She’d confided in him, and giving her advice meant taking on some responsibility. “I know him. I’ll go with you.”

“I can’t ask you to go to so much trouble. Your store takes up your days.”

“Ach, it will do my workers good to be in charge for a few hours.” If he was going to do this, he’d do it right. “I’ll send one of the girls from the store over to mind your shop tomorrow afternoon, just so Mamm doesn’t get any ideas about coming in. And I’ll see to a car. Just be ready about one, ja?”

“But . . .” Susanna still looked troubled, but he wasn’t sure whether it was over the prospect of learning the truth or spending an afternoon in his company.