At Home in Pleasant Valley (15 page)

“That's what you said last year,” she reminded him.

“This year we have Matthew helping us,” Mahlon said, reaching out to tousle the boy's hair. “He's a natural with machines already.”

“That he is,” Joseph said. “I could use a bright boy like this as an apprentice in a few years.”

A slight movement drew Leah's gaze to Daniel. His hands pressed tightly against the sides of his trousers, and his mouth was a firm, straight line.

“We'd best be getting along home now.” He softened the words with a smile, but she thought it took an effort.

Matthew scowled. “But I want to see the corn binder work. Please, Daadi, can't I stay until they get it working?”

“No.” The word was sharp and uncompromising, sounding loud in the quiet barn.

Mahlon and Joseph exchanged glances, and then Mahlon gave Matthew a friendly cuff on the shoulder. “Knowin' my brother, that could be a long wait. You come again another time, all right?”

Matthew's lower lip came out, but he bobbed his head and got to his feet. Elizabeth and Jonah slid over the low wall of the hay mow, and in a moment the Glick family had gone.

Leah stood still, fingers clenched.
It's not your place to interfere. You're not going to get any more involved, remember?

But it was no good. She crossed the barn floor quickly and hurried after them.

The children were already running ahead. Since Daniel seemed to have no intention of stopping when he saw her coming, she fell into step with him.

“What is it?” A plain, frank question seemed to be the only thing that worked with Daniel. “Why did you pull the children away like that?”

“It's time we were getting to the chores.” But his gaze evaded hers.

“Do you object to using the corn binder? It's been approved by the bishop long since, and most farmers in the valley use them. As long as they're pulled by horses—”

“It's not the corn binder,” he snapped.

“Then what?”

He stopped, swinging to face her. “I don't like Matthew's interest in things mechanical, that's all. He won't be looking for any apprenticeship, either, because he's got a gut farm waiting for him.”

“Joseph didn't mean anything but to encourage the boy.”

“I don't want him encouraged.”

She struggled to understand. “Surely it's right for a farmer to understand the machinery he uses. Levi always says he'd be lost if he didn't have Joseph to keep things running.”

Daniel's jaw tightened. “If it was only farm machinery—” He stopped, as if thinking that he didn't need to explain himself to her.

But she thought she understood. “You're afraid Matthew's interest in how things work draws him closer to the English world.”

He wore the expression of a man goaded too far. “I know. I know it will. I've seen it already. ‘When I was English,' that's what my son said to me. ‘When I was English.'”

Her heart twisted. She reached toward him. “Daniel—”

He shook his head, clearly fighting to regain his composure. “I'm grateful for your help with Elizabeth, Teacher Leah. But this I have to take care of on my own.”

L
eah,
it's been too long since you stopped to visit me like this.” Rachel chided Leah gently as she poured glasses of lemonade and arranged cookies on a plate. “You've been even busier since school let out, it seems like.”

Leah felt a combination of pleasure that she'd stopped at Rachel's place on her rounds today and guilt that she hadn't done it sooner. This was just like the situation with Mamm. She shouldn't let her new responsibilities affect her old relationships.

It was gut to be in Rachel's kitchen again, able to talk with her about anything. The two older children were outside, but little Mary played with blocks in the corner.

“I'm sorry I haven't come before this.” She took a sip of the lemonade, tart on her tongue, and accepted a crisp, cinnamon-topped snickerdoodle. “It does seem that I have a lot to do lately.”

“I've heard.” Rachel's lips twitched, as if she tried without success to hold back a smile. “It seems like you've been spending a lot of time with Daniel Glick and his young ones this summer.”

So that was the way the talk was going. She might have known her actions wouldn't have gone unnoticed in a community as tightly knit as theirs was.

“Rachel . . .” she began, then realized that she was gripping the edge of Rachel's pine kitchen table so tightly her fingers hurt. She relaxed her grip and deliberately took another sip of the lemonade.

“I have been seeing a lot of Elizabeth Glick lately.” She hesitated. Daniel had talked about his wife in confidence, and she couldn't repeat his words, even though it would probably silence the gossip about the two
of them. “She wants to learn to quilt, and since she doesn't have a mother or other female relative here to help her, I've been trying. And Mamm is working with her, too.” She smiled, thinking of her mother with the solemn little girl. “Mamm's enjoying it as much as Elizabeth, for sure.”

“That poor little girl.” Rachel's quick sympathy overflowed. “I should have been thinking of that, too. I'll have her over to do some things with my Becky this summer. The two of them are sweet together.”

“That would be wonderful gut. Anything we can do to fill the gaps in those children's lives, we should do.”

“And in Daniel's life, too.” Rachel's smile said that she might have been distracted for a moment, but she wasn't giving up on her matchmaking. “He's a gut man, for sure. I bet he appreciates what you're doing for his child.”

Clearly Rachel wouldn't be diverted from her conviction that Leah and Daniel were meant to be together. Leah bit back her frustration. Denying it would only subject her to more teasing. Maybe it was best to ignore the topic entirely.

“I'd like to do more, but I've been traveling from one end of the church district to the other several days a week, interviewing families with sick children.”

“For the clinic. I know.” Rachel's blue eyes seemed to darken with concern. She pressed her lips together, as if to keep back words she wanted to speak.

Leah hesitated for a moment. She leaned across the table to put her hand over Rachel's. “Go on. Say whatever it is that's put those worry lines between your brows. We've been too close for too long to hold back now, that's certain sure.”

Rachel clasped Leah's hand warmly. “I just— I don't know what to say. I want to warn you about gettin' too close with Johnny again, while a little piece of me hopes that loving you might be the thing that will bring him home.”

Leah's throat tightened with pity. “Rachel, I'm sorry. But I'm afraid there's nothing that will bring John back to the church. I hoped you'd accepted that.”

Rachel sighed, shaking her head a little and blinking back tears.
“It's not so easy. Hope keeps slipping back in. And when you started working at the clinic, well, I thought maybe Johnny was the reason.”

“He's the one who asked me. But I didn't agree because of him. I'm doing this for the children. If anything I do keeps a child from suffering, that's worth it.”

Rachel wiped away tears with her fingers, much as she'd done when they were girls. “God gave you a heart for children, that's for sure, Leah Beiler. I just wish you had some of your own to love.”

Little Mary chose that moment to knock her block tower down, sending blocks skidding across the floor and surprising Leah into a chuckle. “There's one of your little blessings in action.”

“Ach, Mary, don't do that. Someone might trip on them.”

But Mary had lost interest in building, it appeared. She trotted across to Leah and dumped a handful of blocks into her lap.

“How kind of you, Mary. Can I play with these?” Any interruption that got them safely off the subject of her childlessness was a good one.

Mary stared at her with round blue eyes, her fine blond hair curling loose from her braids. Then, suddenly, she smiled, dimple showing, and held out her arms to Leah.

“Up,” she demanded.

“There now, little girl, you're a sweet child.” Leah picked her up, holding her close.

Mary looked so like Johnny that it shocked her that she'd never noticed it before. Not surprising, since Mary's mamm and the uncle she might never know were twins.

If Leah and Johnny had had a babe, this was what he or she might have looked like. She brushed a kiss against the soft cheek, a peculiar ache spreading in her chest. She'd have said she'd accepted never having children of her own, but in this moment, she wasn't so sure.

“She looks like Johnny, doesn't she?” Rachel seemed to understand Leah's thoughts. Her voice was soft, and her eyes glistened with tears.

“Ja.” Her own voice was thick all of a sudden. She shouldn't ask the question that pressed against her lips—she shouldn't, but she had to.

“Rachel, if I could arrange it, would you see him? It hurts so much to think of the two of you apart.”

Something that might have been hope dawned in Rachel's eyes. “Do you think— Should I? I wouldn't want the folks to know, but oh, how I'd love to see him again.”

“You could talk to him.” At least, she could if Johnny put his pride aside and agreed. “Surely there's someplace the two of you could meet and talk. Maybe that would even ease the way for your parents to accept seeing him eventually.”

“I don't know about that.” Rachel clasped her hands, hope and doubt warring in her expression. “But I would do it, if you can set it up. Will you talk to Johnny about it, Leah? Will you?”

Doing so would mean involving herself more deeply with Johnny, something she'd been determined not to do. But how could she refuse the longing of her dear friend's heart?

“I'll try.” She held little Mary close, somehow drawing strength from her. “I'll do my best.”

•   •   •

Leah
gathered her clinic materials together, breathing a silent sigh of relief. She'd met with Stacie to turn in her reports, and this time the woman had been almost—well, not friendly, but at least not antagonistic.

As she stood, Stacie looked up from the desk. “Good work,” she said curtly.

Leah nodded in acknowledgment. As she started to turn away, Stacie slapped her hand down on the desk.

“What's wrong with you people? Can't you even say thank you for a compliment?”

Leah blinked. “I didn't mean to offend. It's just not our way.”

“Why not?” Stacie shoved herself to her feet, both palms on the desk. “A little simple politeness can't be against your rules, can it?”

“It's not that.” Although the woman's tone was irritated, she did seem to want to understand, and that was surely a step in the right direction. “The Amish way is that of humility. For me to say thank you would imply that I agreed I had done a good job.”

Stacie shook her head. “I don't get it. What's wrong with that? I always figure if I don't think well of myself, nobody else will.”

This was like the conversation she'd had with John, which had turned so quickly into a quarrel. Their part of the English world didn't seem to think very highly of humility.

“We believe that God calls us to not think more highly of ourselves than others. To put others first.” Trying to explain something that was so fundamental to her beliefs in a way this educated, intense woman would understand seemed impossible.

Stacie shrugged. “You wouldn't get very far in the academic world with an attitude like that.”

“I suppose not.”

Johnny seemed to have been able to leave that attitude of mind and heart behind. Had it been easy for him to erase the habit of a lifetime?

“Well, I'll see you next week, I guess.” Stacie gathered up the forms, tapping them together. “Have a good one.”

Nodding again, Leah headed back through the maze of offices. Had Johnny told Stacie that Leah had requested to report to her rather than to him? That might account for the change in her attitude.

But now she had to seek him out for a private talk in order to set up a meeting with Rachel. This could only complicate matters with him, but that couldn't be helped. A little embarrassment on her part was a small price to pay for Rachel's happiness.

She'd just begun to wonder how she'd find Johnny when he came around the corner. His step checked at the sight of her. He nodded stiffly and began to turn away.

“John.” This was going to be difficult, given how they'd parted. “May I speak with you?”

His eyebrows lifted. “That's the last thing I expected from you. Had a change of heart, have you?”

She was probably flushing. “This isn't about the clinic. It's about your family.”

For a moment she thought he'd walk away. Then he gave a curt nod and gestured toward the door at the end of the corridor.

“Come out on the back porch. We won't be interrupted there.”

She followed him, trying to arrange what she needed to say. She'd
expect Johnny to be eager to see his twin sister, but did she really know him well enough any longer to say?

The back porch stretched the length of the building, and it seemed to be a repository for things no one had a use for at the moment. Cartons were piled against the wall, and beyond them metal folding chairs leaned against each other.

To her right, someone had attempted to arrange a small sitting area, with a glass-topped table and a couple of benches. John brushed off the seats with the palm of his hand, and they sat down.

She folded her hands and banished the intrusive memory of sitting on the back porch swing with Daniel. How to begin?

“They're all right, aren't they?” The concern in his voice disarmed her. “The family.”

“As far as I know.”

“Did my parents change their minds? Do they want to see me?” He shot the question at her.

“I'm afraid not. But—”

He planted his hands on his knees as if to rise. “Then there's nothing to talk about.”

“There is.” She put out a hand to stop him. “Please, Johnny. Just listen to me for a few minutes.”

His fingers clenched. Then he nodded, not looking at her.

She took a breath. “It's not that they don't want to see you. You must know that.”

“What difference does it make?” He looked at her, and she saw the flash of pain in his eyes. “They won't. That's the bottom line. They're so tied up by the rules of the church that they won't see their own son.”

“You're the one who left with hardly a word of explanation.” And with no hint of farewell for her. “Can't you see how many people were hurt by that? If you wanted to really come back, we—they—would hold out their arms to you.”

“Are you talking about my parents, Leah?” His voice went soft. “Or about you?”

For a moment she couldn't speak. She looked into his face and saw again the boy she'd loved—the boy whose leaving had broken her heart.

She tried to rally her defenses. “This isn't about me.”

“Still determined to hide your emotions under that perfect Amish exterior? Can't we talk honestly about it at least once?” He reached out impetuously to clasp her hand. “Maybe then we can be friends again.”

She forced herself to take a deep breath. “The blame is not on one side or the other, I know that. We hurt each other.”

His fingers tightened. “I left you. I promised to marry you, and then I left.”

The words seemed to wrench open a hole in her heart. Could she, this once, accept the truth about herself?

“And I promised to love you forever.” Tears stung her eyes. “But I couldn't go with you. I was afraid.”

There. That was the truth, as plainly as she knew how to speak it. She felt as if a brisk wind blew through the hole in her heart, chasing away the last shreds of guilt and bitterness.

“I'm sorry.” His voice broke a little on the words, and all the pride seemed wiped out of him in the truth of the moment. “Maybe we were both too young.”

“Ja. We were. I blamed you for a long time.” She looked at him steadily. “I blamed myself even longer.”

It was an astonishing relief to say the words out loud to him after all this time.

“I wish—” he began.

“Don't,” she said quickly. “I know you don't regret leaving, no matter how hard it's been.”

“No. But I regret hurting people to do it.”

She let the silence stretch between them for a moment. For the first time since his return, she felt comfortable with him.

“Can we be friends again, Johnny?”

He squeezed her hand. “Friends.”

She nodded. “Then, as your friend, I'm here for Rachel. She wants to see you.”

His eyes widened, as if he couldn't believe what he heard. “She does? Really?”

“Really.” She smiled, relieved. There could be no doubt about Johnny's reaction to that.