Amish Country Box Set: Restless Hearts\The Doctor's Blessing\Courting Ruth (2 page)

Well, fair enough. In her eyes, he probably was. But he wasn’t going to let her just disappear, not until that last faint suspicion was cleared up. As the law in the township, he was responsible and he took it seriously.

“Sorry, ma’am. You heard me tell your cousin I’d guide you home, and I’m not about to let you get lost. Again.”

For a moment longer she glared at him, sensing he was poking mild fun at her. Then she jerked a nod, as
if to admit defeat, and rounded her car to slide into the driver’s seat.

He paused, flashing the light around the old Landers place and then over Ruth Moser’s general store next door. Be a good thing if someone bought the Landers place. It had been standing empty too long. But Ruth wouldn’t appreciate it if someone up and put a phony Pennsylvania Dutch tourist trap right next to her shop.

Course he didn’t know what the Flanagan woman had in mind for the building. He didn’t think anyone who dressed like she did would sell plastic Amish dolls made in some third world country.

No sign of life in the general store, and everything looked locked up tight. He’d advised Ruth to put in an alarm system, but so far she hadn’t listened. Folks liked to think this was still the quiet countryside it had been fifty years ago, but that wasn’t so.

He walked back to the patrol car and slid in. Vandalism, petty crime, the theft of some handmade Amish quilts out at Moses Schmidt’s place…Even Crossroads Township had its share of crime. And when he’d pinned this badge on, he’d made a vow to protect and to serve.

A familiar pang went through him at the thought. He pulled out, watching the rearview mirror to be sure the Flanagan woman pulled out behind him. He thought he’d made the right choice in coming back home after the trouble in Chicago, but maybe a man could never know until the end of his life if he’d been following God’s leading or his own inclinations.

As it was, there were those he loved who’d never understand his choices. Thank the Lord, they were willing to love him anyway.

At least he’d been coming back to something he knew when he’d come here. What on earth would bring a woman like Fiona Flanagan to buy a place here? The address on her driver’s license was San Francisco. Did she have some pie-in-the-sky dream of rural bliss? If so, she’d no doubt be disappointed.

He’d frightened her when he’d accosted her so abruptly, and he was sorry for that. All he’d seen had been a dark figure at the window of the empty house, and he’d reacted automatically. Still, she’d recovered soon enough, ready to flare up at him in an instant.

There was the gate to the Flanagan farm. When he saw the fanciful sign with its cavorting animals, recollection began to come. He’d heard about this place—they trained service animals for the disabled. If she really belonged here, Ms. Flanagan was probably all right.

She tooted her horn, as if to say that he could leave her now. Instead, he turned into the lane and drove up to the house. It was full dark, and it wouldn’t hurt to see the woman safely into her cousin’s hands.

The farmhouse door opened the moment his lights flashed across the windows, and a man waited outside by the time he came to a stop. The other car drew up under the willow tree with a little spurting of gravel, as if the driver’s temper were not quite under control.

He got out, leaving the motor running as he took the hand the man extended. “I’m Ted Rittenhouse.”

“Good to meet you. Gabe Flanagan.” Flanagan turned to his cousin, who came toward them reluctantly, probably too polite to just walk away from him. “Fiona, we were getting a little worried when you weren’t back by dark. I’m glad you ran into someone who could help you get home.”

She managed a smile, but he suspected she was gritting her teeth. “Officer Rittenhouse was very helpful.”

“It was my pleasure, ma’am.” He would have tipped his hat, but he’d left it in the car. “I hope you’ll stop by and see me if you ever come to Crossroads again. I’d be glad to be of help to you.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Thank you for leading me back.” She hesitated a moment, and then she held out her hand.

Surprised, he took it. It felt small but strong in his. “Good night, Ms. Flanagan.”

“Good night.” She might have wanted to add “good riddance,” but either manners or common sense kept a slight smile on her face. She turned and walked toward the house, her back very straight.

* * *

Fiona crossed the guest bedroom at Gabe and Nolie’s farmhouse a few days later, charmed again by the curve of the sleigh bed and the colorful patchwork quilt. Maybe she’d have something like that in her new house. Her house, officially, as of ten o’clock this morning.

She had to admit she’d hesitated about buying the place in Crossroads after her experience there the other night. But the house was irresistible, and, in the clear light of day, she had to admit the police officer was just doing his duty.

Besides, the lure of the place overrode everything else.
Home,
it kept saying to her.
Home.

Crossroads, she’d learned, was a fairly large area, encompassing several small villages on the outskirts of Suffolk, as well as farmland. Surely a township police officer like Ted Rittenhouse would be too busy with his other duties to bother about her. Or to annoy her.

She picked up her jacket and slipped it on. October had abruptly turned chilly, at least for the day. Still, anyone who’d grown up in San Francisco was used to changeable weather. That wouldn’t bother her.

She paused at the dresser, letting her fingers slip across the painted surface of the rectangular wooden box she’d brought with her across the country. It was all she had of the mother she’d never known. How much had that influenced her decision to come here? She wasn’t sure, and she didn’t like not being sure about something so important. When her advisor in the nurse-midwife program had mentioned that his part of Pennsylvania had a growing need for midwives, something had lit up inside her. Some instinct had said that here she’d find what she was looking for, even if she didn’t quite know what it was.

“That’s a replica of a dower chest,” Nolie spoke from the doorway. “It’s lovely. Did you buy it here?”

Fiona smiled at her hostess. With her fresh-scrubbed face, blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, jeans and flannel shirt, Nolie Flanagan looked more like a teenager than a busy wife and mother, as well as an accomplished trainer of service animals for the disabled.

“I brought it with me. It was my mother’s.” She hoped the shadow she felt when she said the words didn’t show in her voice. “I hate to show my ignorance, but what is a dower chest?”

Nolie came closer, tracing the stiff, painted tulips with their green leaves, fat little hearts and yellow stars in circles that decorated the box. “A traditional dower chest is much larger than this—like a cedar chest—for Pennsylvania Dutch girls to store the linens they make in preparation for their wedding. This smaller one was probably for a child to keep her treasures in.”

It hadn’t occurred to her that Nolie would be a source of information, but her Aunt Siobhan had said that Nolie’s family had lived on this farm for generations. “When you say Pennsylvania Dutch, do you mean Amish?”

Nolie leaned against the dresser, apparently willing to be distracted from whatever chores called her. “The Amish are Pennsylvania Dutch, but not all Pennsylvania Dutch are Amish.” She grinned. “Confusing, I know. And to add to the confusion, we aren’t really Dutch at all. We’re of German descent. William Penn welcomed the early German immigrants, including the Amish. They’ve held on to their identity better than most because of their religious beliefs.”

“It can’t be easy, trying to resist the pressures of the modern world.”

“No. There are always those who leave the community, like your mother.”

Fiona blinked. “I didn’t realize you knew about her.”

Distress showed in Nolie’s blue eyes. “I’m sorry—I didn’t pry, honestly. Siobhan mentioned it, when she told us you were coming.”

Her Aunt Siobhan and Uncle Joe knew about her mother, probably more than she did, of course. During the week she’d spent in their house she’d wondered if they’d talk about her mother, or about the reason her father hadn’t spoken to his brother in over twenty-five years. But they hadn’t, and Fiona was too accustomed to not rocking the boat to mention it herself. In any case, the breach between brothers meant they’d know little of what happened after her parents left.

“It’s all right. I don’t know much about her myself. She died shortly after I was born.”

“I’m sorry,” Nolie said again. “But your father must have spoken of her.”

“No.” She transferred her gaze to the chest, because that was easier than looking into Nolie’s candid eyes. “My father couldn’t take care of me—I was in foster care for years. By the time I went to live with him, he’d remarried.”

And he hadn’t particularly wanted reminders of that early mistake. She wouldn’t say that. She wasn’t looking for pity, and she’d already said more than she’d intended.

Nolie’s hand closed over hers, startling her, and she repressed the urge to pull away. “I know what that’s like. I was in foster care, too. And with a great-aunt who didn’t want me. It can be tough to get past that sometimes.”

Fiona’s throat tightened in response, but the habit of denial was too ingrained. She used the movement of picking up her handbag to draw away.

“It was a long time ago. I don’t think much about it now.” At least, she tried not to.

Nolie made some noncommittal sound that might have been doubt or agreement, but she didn’t push. “I suppose you’ll want to look up your mother’s family, too, now that you’re here.”

Fiona shook her head. She’d been over this and over it, and she was sure she’d made the right decision. “I don’t plan to do that. It’s not the same thing as coming to see the Flanagan family. Aunt Siobhan always tried to keep in touch, and I knew she’d be glad to see me.”

“But they probably—”

“No.” That sounded too curt. She’d have to explain, at least a little. “My mother’s family never made any effort to contact me. The one time my father spoke to me about it, he said they’d rejected my mother for marrying him. It’s hardly likely they’d want to see me.”

“You can’t be sure of that.” Nolie’s face was troubled. “I’d be glad to help you find them. Or maybe that police officer you met could help.”

“No. Thanks anyway.” She forced a smile. “I appreciate it, but I’ve made my decision. I don’t want to find them.”

Because they rejected your mother? The small voice in the back of her mind was persistent. Or because you’re afraid they might reject you?

“If that’s what you want—” Nolie began, but her words were interrupted by a wail from downstairs. “Uh-oh.” She smiled. “Sounds like trouble. That music video keeps her happy for a half hour, but then only Mommy will do. All my years of taking care of animals didn’t prepare me for the demands of one small human.”

“And you love it.” Fiona picked up her corduroy jacket and handbag. “Go ahead, take care of little Siobhan. I’m fine, really.”

Nolie nodded. “If you ever want to talk—”

“Thanks. I’m okay.”

The wails soared in pitch, and Nolie spun and trotted down the steps. “Mommy’s coming. It’s all right.”

Fiona followed more slowly. The maternal love in Nolie’s face was practically incandescent. Seeing that when it happened for the first time was one of the best rewards of being a midwife. Once her practice got on its feet, she’d have that opportunity again and again.

She was off to take possession of her new house, the first step toward her new life.

Lord, please bless this new beginning. Help me not to dwell on the difficulties of the past, but only on the promises of the future.

Chapter Two

W
hen no one answered his knock at the old Landers house, Ted pulled open the screen door and stepped into the hallway, glancing around. Come to think of it, he’d have to start calling this the Flanagan place. Or Flanagan clinic, maybe. Rumor had it she was starting a midwife practice here.

Whatever she was doing, Ms. Flanagan really shouldn’t leave her door standing open that way. Then he noticed that the latch had come loose when he pulled on the screen door, probably one of hundreds of little things to be fixed.

“Ms. Flanagan?”

The two large rooms on either side of the central hallway were empty, except for a few odds and ends of furniture left by the last inhabitants. He could see what attracted the woman to the house—under the dust and neglect were beautiful hardwood floors, and the rooms
were graciously proportioned, with bay windows looking out toward the street.

“Hello, is anyone here?”

A muffled call answered him from somewhere upstairs. Taking that for an invitation, he started up the staircase, running his hand along the curving banister. An oval stained-glass window on the landing sent a pattern of color onto the faded linoleum someone had been foolish enough to put over those beautiful stairs.

Sunlight poured through the tall window at one end of the center of the second floor landing. He paused, blinking at the sight of a rickety stepladder under what had to be the opening to the attic. A pair of sneakered feet balanced on the very top. Nothing else was visible of Fiona but a pair of trim legs in dust-streaked jeans.

The stepladder wobbled dangerously, and he grabbed it, steadying it with both hands. “What on earth are you doing up there? Trying to break a leg?”

As soon as the words were out, he realized that was more or less what he’d said that first night when he’d spotted her. Now, at least, she owned the house, but that was no excuse for endangering herself.

Fiona poked her head down from the dark rectangle of the attic opening, looking disheveled and annoyed. “What are you doing here?”

“At the moment, I’m keeping this ladder from collapsing under you.”

“It’s perfectly fine.” Her weight shifted, and the ladder swayed.

He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to let go?”

Her lips clamped together. “No.” She seemed to force the word out. Then, hands braced on the edge of the opening, she started lowering herself.