At Home in Pleasant Valley (14 page)

For a moment she couldn't speak. John did sound like an Englischer now. He'd been raised on the same Scriptures she had.

Blessed are the meek. Do not think yourself better than anyone else, but humble yourselves in obedience to God
.

Apparently he had forgotten.

“I don't want to argue with you about it.” She started to rise. “If that's all—”

“Leah, don't. Please don't leave. I didn't mean to offend you.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his palm, as if trying to wipe away tension.

“Is it hard?” She asked the question abruptly, thinking about his obvious eagerness to please Dr. Brandenmyer. “Feeling you belong in this world now?”

A muscle jerked at the corner of his mouth. “Sometimes not at all. Sometimes every minute of the day.”

“I'm sorry.” She was. Not trying to convince him he'd been wrong in his choice. Just sorry it was hard for him.

He shrugged. “It was worth it.”

Did he really feel that? Apparently so.

He stared down at the chart of the Miller family. Finally he cleared his throat.

“I remember Naomi. So she married Nathan Miller. Everybody thought they'd make a match of it.”

“Ja.” Everyone had thought that. Just as they'd thought she and Johnny would.

He smiled suddenly. “Remember when Nathan and I took our daads' buggies out on that dirt road behind the Esch farm and tried to have a harness race?”

“I remember that Naomi and I told you not to. And that you both ate your meals standing up for a few days.”

“Don't give me that.” His eyes laughed at her. “I distinctly remember Naomi jumping up and down waving her bonnet, and you yelling at me to go.”

She couldn't prevent the chuckle that escaped her. “We did not.”

But she remembered that day so clearly—the dust hanging in the air like fog, the buggy wheels flashing, the boys standing up in the buggies like chariot racers.

Johnny laughed, a delighted chuckle that was so familiar it plucked her heartstrings. “You're a liar, Leah Beiler.” He closed his hand over hers. “You were just as ready to get into that mischief as I was, but you got off easier.” His fingers tightened, and his gaze was warm on her face. “Admit it.”

For an instant they were Leah and Johnny again—young and in love. A flush mounted her face.

They weren't, and she couldn't let herself think that way.

She pulled her hand away. “We did plenty of foolish things when we were young. It was a long time ago.”

“Afraid, Leah?” His voice mocked her. “Afraid holding hands for a minute with a fence-jumper will ruin your reputation as the perfect Amish schoolteacher?”

She clasped her hands in her lap and took refuge for the tumult of feelings in anger. “At least I can accept who I am.”

Anger, quick as summer lightning, sparked in his face. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means that if you were as confident you made the right choice as you claim you are, you'd correct your friend Stacie's misconceptions about what it means to be Amish.”

His chair scraped as he stood, planting his hands on the table. “And are you so convinced you've made the right choice? Maybe that's what you tell yourself, Leah, but don't expect me to buy it. I know you—I know how much you've always wanted to learn and know and experience the world you can only dream about.”

Would his words hurt so much if they weren't true? “I know my place,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even. “I have my family, my faith, the children I teach. That is what matters to me.”

“Is it? You give kids an eighth-grade education that doesn't prepare them for the real world and think you're doing a good job. Well, you're not.”

She looked at him steadily. Johnny said he knew her. Maybe he did and maybe he didn't, but she knew him. That moment when he'd admitted his struggle had shown her too much, and she could sense the pain beneath his words.

“I'm not preparing them for the English world,” she reminded him. “I'm preparing them to be Amish men and women. But I don't think you're talking about my scholars, anyway. I think you're talking about yourself.”

Her hands were shaking, and she had to concentrate in order to pick up the folder with the unused forms.

“I think I'd best meet with Stacie in the future,” she said, and walked quickly from the office.

•   •   •

A
car approached the buggy from behind, going fast, if the sound it made was any indication. Hands firm on the lines, Leah kept Betty moving at a steady pace. She darted a glance to the side of the road—hardly any berm and then a drop-off to a deep ditch.

A horn blared. Leah's nerves tightened but Betty, bless her, merely flicked an ear. And then the car whizzed past the buggy, so close that she could have reached out and touched it, cutting in again sharply in front of the horse.

The horn blared again, a harsh, derisive sound. Leah stared after it as her pulse steadied. Bright red it was, filled with teenagers, it looked like, and one—

Her fingers tensed on the lines. That sheet of pale blond hair flying in the wind as the girl turned to look back at her looked familiar. Too familiar.

Anna. But it couldn't be, could it? Anna was supposed to be working at the bakery this afternoon. She couldn't be riding around out on the Hedgeville Road in the farthest reaches of the district. The only reason Leah had come so far up the valley was to do an interview with another family.

It had been a branch of the Stoltzfus family, this one with four affected children. The mother had been willing to talk, but unfortunately hadn't known much about the ramifications of her husband's family.

The grossmutter knew it all, she'd said, but she was on a visit to a married daughter over near Mifflinburg. Teacher Leah was welcome to come back another time and talk with her.

Leah glanced down at the black case that sat beside her feet. That would mean another long buggy ride, eating up time that could have accommodated visits to two or three closer families. She would not have anything near as satisfying to report this week as her triumph with the Miller genealogy.

She backed away from that word, frowning.
Triumph
. What a decidedly un-Amish concept that was. If God led her to learn anything that helped the children, His was the glory, not hers.

There was more traffic on the road as she approached Hedgeville, and she had to concentrate on that, putting aside for a moment thoughts of the work. And especially worries about the girl in the red car who could not possibly have been Anna.

Hedgeville sported a small area of strip development on its outskirts—an auto parts store, a donut shop, a fast-food place. She frowned. A red car, surely the same one, was parked at the fast-food restaurant.

Without giving herself a chance to think too much, she turned Betty into the parking lot. It was hot, and she had a long way home yet. A cold drink would taste good.

As was usual in Pleasant Valley, the restaurant provided a hitching rail at the back of the parking lot, under the shade of the trees that lined it, for their horse-and-buggy customers. She drew up to the rail and Betty halted. Before she could get down, someone was there, beside the buggy, blocking her way.

Anna. But not the Anna she knew. This Anna had a wave of straight, silky hair falling nearly to the waist of her tight jeans. Her gray T-shirt bore the logo of a local college. Only the sneakers on her feet were familiar.

“You recognized me.”

“Barely.” A flicker of anger went through Leah. “You might have told your friend not to blare the horn at a buggy horse.”

Anna dismissed that with a flick of her fingers. “Betty's too stolid to let that bother her.”

“Every buggy horse in the valley is not so well-trained as Betty. Driving like that could cause an accident.”

“The way the English see it, roads are for cars. It's the horses and buggies that cause the accidents.”

“And is that what you believe, Anna?” Leah studied her sister's face, trying to find some indication of the Anna she knew.

Anna shrugged, her gaze evading Leah's. “No. I mean, I guess I can see their point. It wasn't my doing. I was just a passenger.”

“And why were you a passenger at all? You're supposed to be at work this afternoon, aren't you?”

Another shrug. “We weren't busy this afternoon. Mrs. Schatz said I could go home early. My friends offered me a ride.”

So she could racket around the county with a boy who drove too fast, wearing English clothes, pretending she was one of them. “This isn't the way home.”

“We stopped for something to eat.” The flippant tone grated on Leah's nerves. “There's nothing wrong with that. What are you doing out this way, anyway?”

“I had a family to interview.” Worry for her little sister replaced the annoyance she felt. “Why don't you get your things and come along with me now?”

“I'm not ready to leave yet. Don't worry about me. I'll be back in time for supper.”

“Not worrying is easier said than done.” She wanted to reach out, to touch that silky hair she'd brushed and braided so often for her little sister, but she was afraid Anna would pull away. What had happened to them, that there was such distance between them now?

She moved, intending to get down. Anna's hand shot out to grab the buggy, blocking her way.

“You're not coming in, are you?”

She froze. “I thought I'd get something cold to drink. Are you ashamed of me, Anna?”

Anna's face turned sulky. “Well, you're ashamed of me, dressed this way, aren't you?”

“Not ashamed. Never ashamed.” Now she did reach out and touch her sister's hair lightly. “Just worried that you are flirting too much with the English world. I love you, Anna. I don't want you to be hurt.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know you think that, but—”

“I can.” Now Anna did jerk away from her. “And you're a fine one to talk about that to me when you're doing the same thing.”

Leah's heart seemed to turn cold in her chest. “What are you talking about?”

“You. Johnny Kile.” Anna took a step back, throwing the words at her. “All that work you're doing at the clinic.” She shot an angry glance toward the black case. “Everyone knows you're only doing it to get close to Johnny Kile again. So maybe you'd better save your lectures for yourself.”

L
et's
pick out the colors you want to use for your doll quilt,” Leah said, spreading out the contents of her mother's scrap basket on the table in the living room at the daadi haus.

Elizabeth looked at them doubtfully and shrugged. “I don't know. Whatever you think is best.”

Elizabeth's impassive little face didn't give Leah any clues to her feelings. Did she want to learn how to quilt, or was she going along only because her daadi wanted her to?

Leah moved scraps of colors around, hoping for an inspiration. She had suggested teaching the child to quilt, thinking that it would lead to conversations while they worked together. Most Amish girls of eight were already fairly accomplished with a needle, but then, most had a mammi or grossmutter to guide them.

She glanced at Elizabeth's solemn little face. Did she feel that something was missing in her life, without a mother to teach her the skills of Amish life?

Or was she longing to go back to the English world her mother had taken her to? If that was the case, it would devastate Daniel, who was trying so hard to restore his relationship with his children after their time apart.

“These might be pretty together.” She moved a dark blue piece next to a coral rose.

“That's a nice color.” One small finger touched the rose fabric. “Do you have a dress made of that?”

“No, that piece is left from a dress my sister Anna made.”

Leah kept her voice calm, but her mind winced away from thoughts
of her sister. She and Anna had been painfully polite to each other in public since the incident at the fast-food restaurant. In private, they had been silent, living in the same house without speaking.

The hurt would go away in time. They'd be normal to each other again. Just not right now.

“This is a doll quilt that I made when I was about your age.”

Leah unfolded the small, faded one-patch quilt. With its simple arrangement of seven squares across and seven squares down, it would be the simplest design to start with.

“I remember I thought the yellow and the green would look fine together, but once it was done, I wasn't so sure.” She'd sat in this room with Grossmutter, trying so hard to make her stitches as smooth and tiny as her grandmother's had been.

“I think it's pretty.”

That was the first positive thing Elizabeth had said, and it pleased Leah, even if the child was just being polite.

“Your quilt will be really pretty, too, I know. And I'll make one along with you. I think I'd like this light blue piece for one of my colors.” She took a good-sized piece of fabric, hoping that would encourage Elizabeth to do the same.

Elizabeth looked at her, forehead wrinkling in a frown. “Do you have a doll bed?”

“Well, not anymore. I gave it to my little sister when she started playing with dolls. But I'll make a quilt anyway, and I can put it away to give when I need a gift for someone.”

Elizabeth picked at the piece of rose fabric. “I don't have a doll bed, either.” Her mouth seemed to tighten on the words, and Leah had a sense of some emotion quickly suppressed.

“You have a doll, don't you?” She couldn't imagine any Amish girl without at least one of the faceless cloth dolls that were so much a part of childhood.

Elizabeth nodded. “But she has to sleep on my bed, because she doesn't have one of her own.”

Again Leah sensed that tension. She longed to find out what the
significance was of a doll bed, but if she probed, Elizabeth would retreat, and they'd be left in silence again.

Best to let it go for the moment. Perhaps Daniel would be able to shed some light.

“I'm sure your doll will like to have her own quilt, even if she's sleeping on your bed.” She was going to have to move things along, or she had the sense that Elizabeth would sit looking at the fabric pieces until it was time for Daniel to come for her. “Let's decide what colors we want.” She pointed to her old doll quilt. “How many colors would we need to make a quilt like this?”

Elizabeth studied the design, obviously counting to herself. “Seven.” Her fingers lingered on the rose fabric. “May I use this one? And the light green?”

“Ser gut.” Leah's heart warmed at the show of interest. “Choose five more, now, and then we can start cutting them out.”

Nodding, Elizabeth began moving fabric pieces around, face intent as she considered each one.

Somehow Leah had attracted the child's attention. That was the first hurdle, and she'd have to be content with that for today.

She watched Elizabeth's face, longing to do more. The trauma of what had happened to Elizabeth had made her put up barriers against showing what she truly felt. Leah, of all people, knew about that. She had guarded her own feelings just as carefully after Johnny left.

The thought hit her, taking her breath away for a moment. She hoped to help Elizabeth surmount her fears, but how could she do that when she hadn't succeeded with her own?

And if she did, through God's grace, manage to help Elizabeth, who would help her?

•   •   •

Matthew
and Jonah darted ahead of Daniel as he headed across the field to the Beiler farm to collect Elizabeth. Matthew seemed more settled in recent days, for which Daniel was truly thankful.

As for Jonah—he had to smile as his youngest grabbed Matthew's
hat and took off, Matthew in hot pursuit. Nothing ever seemed to dampen Jonah's spirits. He had the gift of taking things as they came, unlike the other two.

Still, even Elizabeth had been better lately, making him wonder if this business of having Leah work with her was necessary. Maybe all his daughter needed was time to adjust to her life here.

“Daadi!” Matthew, having retrieved his hat, came racing back to him. “Mahlon and Joseph are working on something at the barn. Can we go see?”

“Go, but mind you stay out of their way.”

Matthew ran off again, Jonah chugging along behind him like a little shadow. The Beiler brothers would make time for them, he knew, and maybe that was the answer with Elizabeth as well. Whether or not she really needed the counseling, as Leah thought, it would be good for her to be around a family like the Beilers.

When he reached the back porch, Leah and Elizabeth were just coming out. As usual, Elizabeth's face didn't give anything away.

“How was the quilting?” He hated that his voice sounded too hearty, as if he still couldn't be at ease with his own child.

“It went very well,” Leah said, resting her hand lightly on Elizabeth's shoulder. “Elizabeth has a natural talent for needlework, I think.”

Elizabeth darted a glance at her, as if checking to be sure Leah really meant it. Apparently she was satisfied with whatever she saw on Teacher Leah's face, because a smile played on her lips.

“I'm making a one-patch quilt for my doll,” she announced. “Can I go tell Matthew about it?”

Leah nodded slightly over the child's head. She wanted to talk with him privately, then. Apprehension tightened his stomach.

“Your brothers are out at the barn. Go and find them, but don't get in the way.”

“There's no need to worry about that.” Leah sat down on the porch swing as Elizabeth crossed toward the barn. “Mahlon and Joseph are working on some project, but they always have time for company.”

He sat down next to her. “What's wrong?” He said the words bluntly, not willing to wait for her to lead up to whatever troubled her.

“Nothing.” She reached out toward him, a tentative little gesture. “I'm sorry if I gave you that impression.”

“There is something, Teacher Leah, or you would not be so cautious. Just tell me.”

She looked troubled. “Daniel, it's important that Elizabeth not feel I'm reporting to you on what happens between us.”

Irritation flickered. “I'm her father. I have a right to know what concerns her.”

“Please understand.” Leah's voice went soft with caring. “I won't keep anything important from you, but Elizabeth must know that she can trust me, or she won't open up at all. You can see that, can't you?”

He pushed past his annoyance, past his instinctive response that he was the only one responsible for his daughter's happiness. If Leah could help Elizabeth, he must swallow his pride and let her.

“Ja,” he said. “I see. I'll be careful.”

“Ser gut.” She glanced toward the barn, as if checking to be sure that Elizabeth was well out of earshot. “When we were planning the doll quilts we're making, Elizabeth said that she doesn't have a doll cradle. It seemed to upset her a little, so I wanted to ask if it means something I should be aware of.”

For a moment he looked at her blankly. The doll cradle—

“I made one for her,” he said slowly. “For her third birthday, that was. It was one of the things Ruth took with her when she went away.” He could feel the tension tightening inside him like a spring.

“Do you know what happened to it?” Leah's voice was carefully neutral.

“When I went to pick them up, I stopped at the place where they'd been living.” He had to force himself to remember that, hating the fact that his children had lived in a place with dirty dishes in the sink and clothes strewn on the floor. “I wanted to pack up their things, but the cradle wasn't there.” His voice roughened. “There was nothing left to remind them that they'd been Amish. Ruth must have gotten rid of all of it.”

“I'm sorry.” Leah's green eyes went dark with sympathy.

His hands had curled into fists on his knees. He forced them to relax, one finger at a time.

The anger is still here, Father. How am I ever to be rid of it? Please, take it away.

Leah put her hand over his, her touch startling him. “It's so hard, I know. But they were things. Things don't make us Amish.” She paused, as if groping for words. “It is Gelassenheit that defines who we are. If they've forgotten, your children will learn it again, now that they're safe with you.”

Gelassenheit. It meant humility, but it was so much more, encompassing all that was simple and humble and good about their way of life.

He took a deep breath. “I pray you are right,” he said. “Certainly I can make a new doll cradle for Elizabeth.”

“Her birthday is later in the summer, isn't it?” Leah drew her hand away, flushing a little. “We'll try to finish the quilt by then, too, so that she can have both the cradle and the quilt together. And my mamm has already started making a doll for her.”

“That is kind of her. And you.”

“It's a pleasure for both of us. We're glad to have Elizabeth in our lives.”

The warmth in Leah's voice touched the sore place in his heart, soothing it. He glanced at her, liking the delicate line of her profile, the warmth and caring that flowed from her so effortlessly.

His family kept telling him that he should marry again, that his children needed a mother and he needed a wife. If he intended to do that, wasn't Teacher Leah the logical person to ask?

She had been kind to them from the moment they'd arrived, had gone out of her way to help his children. And he was attracted to her—he couldn't deny that.

But balanced against that was her work at the clinic, bringing her again and again into contact with her onetime intended. He knew, better than most, the trouble that could come from flirtation with the outside world.

And even if he did decide to risk it, the truth was that despite her kindness, despite the attraction that he thought was mutual, he had no idea how Leah would react if he courted her.

•   •   •

Leah
got up, setting the porch swing moving slightly. She was getting too close to Daniel, and that was a problem. She neither wanted nor was ready for any further changes in her life. She was dealing with enough already.

“Shall we go out to the barn and see what they're up to?”

Daniel nodded, standing and falling into step with her. The silence between them bothered her, filled as it was with the things unsaid.

“It's hard to tell what Joseph and Mahlon might be doing,” she said to fill the gap. “When the two of them get together, they turn back into young ones again, ready for all kinds of foolishness.”

“They've always been close?”

She nodded. “They're near each other in age and sandwiched between the girls, so maybe that accounts for it.”

“My brother Caleb and I were like that.” His smile flickered, reminiscent. “Mamm declared we gave her more gray hairs than the rest of the family put together.”

“She probably enjoyed it, even if she didn't want you to know.”

He glanced toward the barn, as if looking for his own young ones. “Maybe so. I'd like to see Matthew and Jonah be closer.”

“When they've grown a bit, the age difference between them won't mean as much,” she suggested.

He nodded, frowning a little. In this, as in everything connected with his children, Daniel wanted so much to have everything be right. He was a good man, trying hard to be both mother and father to his family.

She admired that, as she should, but that didn't mean she ought to be drawn any deeper into a relationship that might not be what either of them wanted for their lives.

Daniel slid the barn door back. Joseph and Mahlon were bent over a piece of machinery, and Matthew knelt next to them, obviously intrigued. Elizabeth and Jonah were in the hay mow, engrossed in some game of their own that seemed to involve Elizabeth putting strands of hay into her little brother's hair.

“Don't tell me you're still trying to get that corn binder working. Last year it broke down so often that Daadi said it was simpler to do it by hand.”

Joseph, a streak of grease on his forehead, grinned at her. “That's why we're working on it early this year. Come time to harvest the corn, we'll have this running like a top.”