At Home in Pleasant Valley (16 page)

“I'll go right now. I can leave for the day and drive over there—”

“Wait.” She grasped his arm to stop him. “Not right away. She'll meet you someplace. She asked me to arrange it.”

She felt him stiffen, saw the softness leave his face. “You mean I'm not welcome at my own sister's home. She wants to see me someplace where no one will know, as if I'm a criminal.”

He was pulling away, and somehow she had to make him see what he was doing.

“Don't, Johnny. Don't deny the very thing you want out of some foolish, worldly pride. Rachel loves you. She wants to see you again. That's the only important thing, isn't it?”

For a moment it hung in the balance, and she held her breath. Then, a little shamefaced, he nodded.

“You're right.” He squeezed her hand tightly, and the bond between them ran so strong that it frightened her. “You set it up. I'll be there.”

•   •   •

“Those
are nice, small stitches, Elizabeth. Your quilt is coming along already.”

Elizabeth nodded, not looking up from the patch she was working on. Her brows were furrowed in concentration as she wielded the needle.

Leah suppressed a sigh. She sat in her grossmutter's chair, but she didn't seem to have her gift for drawing out confidences. Elizabeth's quilt might be progressing, but their relationship wasn't.

Should she be pushing more? She studied the little girl's face, but it gave nothing away, and she feared probing might only make Elizabeth retreat further into her shell.

Perhaps she should discuss it with Lydia again. Her books had been helpful, but talking it out would be even better.

Better yet would be having Lydia counsel the child, but she had no hope that Daniel would agree to that.

She frowned down at her own quilt patch. Her life seemed more like a
crazy quilt lately than this neat geometric design. Trying to balance Elizabeth's troubles, her apprehension over bringing Rachel and Johnny together, her tangled feelings for him, her growing closeness with Daniel . . . Maybe they all made some sort of pattern in God's sight, but she couldn't see it.

Guide me, Father,
she prayed as she set one tiny stitch after another.
I don't see my path clearly just now, and I need to know where You want me.

Someone knocked at the front door of the daadi haus. Murmuring a silent
Amen,
she went to answer it.

“Leah, you're just the person I hoped to see.” Paula Schatz, the Mennonite woman who owned the bakery where Anna worked, peered past her. “Is your mother here?”

“I'm sorry, but she had to go out—”

“No, no, that's good.”

Paula thrust a paper bag with the bakery logo on it into Leah's hands as she came in. With her graying hair pulled back into a bun under her prayer cap and her comfortable girth enveloped in a modest dress, she might have appeared Amish to an outsider.

It was true enough that the Amish and the Mennonites were cousins in belief, so to speak, though sometimes their differences could be bitter. But she knew Paula nearly as well as she did her own church family.

Paula chuckled. “Listen to me. I'm so distracted that I made it sound as if I didn't want to see your dear mamm. Give her that from me—it's some of my pumpernickel bread.”

“She and Daadi will love it, for sure. But if you didn't come to see Mamm—”

Paula clasped her arm. “I thought I'd bring this problem to you, Leah. You'd be the one to handle it, and I didn't want to put another burden on your mamm when she's still recovering.”

A problem with Anna, then. Leah's heart sank. She'd just begun to feel as if things were getting back to normal between her and Anna.

Paula caught sight of Elizabeth and blinked. “I'm sorry if I interrupted.”

“This is my neighbor Elizabeth Glick. We're making quilts together.”

Elizabeth gave a polite nod, seeming to retreat a bit further into herself in the presence of the stranger.

“I'm glad to meet you, Elizabeth.” Paula shot a glance at Leah. “Can we talk in private?”

There was nothing to be gained by putting it off, whatever it was. Leah nodded, gesturing toward the kitchen.

“Just keep on with your stitching, Elizabeth. I need to talk with Mrs. Schatz for a few minutes.” She went into the kitchen with a silent prayer.

“I'll make a long story short,” Paula said, bracing her hands against the back of a kitchen chair. “Seeing as how you have a guest.”

Her brown eyes twinkled with curiosity, and Leah knew she was aching to ask about her relationship with the Glick family. Paula, like everyone else in Pleasant Valley, took a deep interest in her neighbors.

“Is there a problem with Anna?” Leah came out with the question before Paula could get sidetracked.

“Now, Leah, you know how much I care about the girls I hire to work in the bakery.” Paula's round face, seeming to be made for smiling, grew serious. “They're like my own kin, they are, and I feel responsible for them.”

“Ja, I know.” That was why Mamm and Daad had felt safe about Anna working there.

“And I don't want to be telling tales on any of my girls, no, I don't.” Paula shoved her wire-rimmed glasses up her nose. “But I'm that worried about Anna that I had to talk to someone. ‘Teacher Leah's the one,' I said to myself. ‘If anyone can get through to Anna, it'll be Leah.'”

Paula couldn't guess how wrong she was about that. Leah seemed to have no influence at all over her baby sister these days.

“What has she done?” She braced herself for the answer.

“Coming late. Leaving early. Not showing up at all sometimes. I tell you, Leah, I'm at my wit's end with her.” She hesitated. “It's not my business, but I've seen the boy who waits for her when she leaves—Englischer, he is, with a fancy red car.”

Even though Paula herself drove a car, it was a sedate black sedan, with even the bumpers painted black.

Leah let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She couldn't even say she was surprised. “Have you spoken to her about it?”

“I've tried to talk sense to her, but it's done me no good at all. I might as well save my breath to cool my porridge. No, you're the one to handle this.”

“I'll try.” Though she doubted that Anna would listen to her, either. “Thank you for coming to me, rather than Mamm. You're a gut friend, for sure.”

Paula patted her hand. “I do my best by those girls, but if ever I saw someone going near the edge, it's Anna. Well, well, we do our best, but sometimes young people have to make their own mistakes.”

She headed toward the front door, apparently satisfied that she'd said what was necessary. Leah trailed behind her, impelled by hospitality when she'd rather curl up and weep.

“I'm grateful to you. I'll do my best.”

“I know you will.” Paula gave her a quick hug. “You're a good, responsible girl, you are. Anna could stand to be a little more like you.”

Leah managed a smile. “I don't think she'd like hearing that.”

Paula shook her head, chuckling a little as she went out. “No, I don't suppose so. Mind, now, if she doesn't straighten out soon, I'll have to let her go. I wouldn't want to put that burden on your mamm, either. It would worry her.”

“It would.” Leah's heart sank at the thought of Mamm's reaction to that. She and Paula were old friends, and that would hurt her. Still, what else could Paula do? She had a business to run.

Leah stood watching as Paula drove off, her mind searching for a way to reach Anna. Here was another errant patch for her imaginary crazy quilt, and it threatened to be the most difficult to deal with.

But in the meantime, she was neglecting Elizabeth. She went to look over the child's work before sitting down again.

“Ser gut,” she said, picking up her own work. “I'm sorry about the interruption.”

Elizabeth fixed her with an apprehensive gaze. “Is something wrong with your mamm?”

Odd, that out of all she must have overheard, that was what she'd fix on. “Not exactly. Mrs. Schatz didn't want to worry her just now, that's all.”

“Because she's sick?”

Obviously Elizabeth wasn't going to be content with evasions. Maybe she was relating this to losing her own mother.

“Mamm was very sick last year,” Leah said carefully, wanting to be honest without frightening the child. “She's doing much better now, but we still try to keep her from being worried and upset, or from doing too much.”

“Is she going to die?” Elizabeth's lips trembled.

Leah's heart clenched. “Everyone will die sometime, but I think my mamm will be with us for a long time.”

“My mamm died.”

Was this the breakthrough she'd been looking for, coming at her from an unexpected source? She breathed a quick, silent prayer for guidance.

“I know she did. I'm sorry. You must miss her an awful lot.”

Elizabeth clenched the quilt patch tightly in her hands. Her face worked. “I was angry at my mamm.” Her mouth twisted. “And then she died.”

Calm, be calm. Don't overreact.
“You got mad at her before she died. We all get mad at the people we love sometimes.”

Elizabeth was shaking her head, her face contorted. Leah longed to put her arms around the child, to comfort her and tell her she didn't have to talk about it. But talking about it might be the very thing that would help her heal.

“It's all right, Elizabeth,” she said softly. “You can tell me anything you want. I won't tell anyone.”

“I prayed to go home again.” She seemed to force the words out. “All the time after Mamm took us away, I prayed to go home. But I didn't mean for her to die. I didn't!” Elizabeth burst into tears.

Now Leah did have to hold her. She scooped the child into her arms and settled in the rocking chair, holding her close.

“Hush, hush, now. It's all right. Really, it's all right.” She smoothed her hair and stroked her back. “Elizabeth, your prayers didn't bring about your mamm's accident.”

“But I prayed to go home.” A choked sob punctuated the words. “And after Mammi died, Daadi came to take us home.”

Leah rocked back and forth, patting her, trying to find the right words to comfort her. The poor child, carrying a burden like this for months and not telling anyone.

“I know it seems that way,” Leah said carefully. “But your mamm was in an accident because she drove a car when she'd been drinking. God didn't make her do that. She decided to do that on her own.”

Leah couldn't guess what had led Ruth to the choices she'd made. She could only do her best to deal with the results.

“Her accident was a terrible thing, but you weren't to blame. It's all right to be thankful that you were able to come home.”

She felt some of the tension ease out of Elizabeth's body. She seemed to relax against Leah's shoulder, much as she'd done the night she'd burned her hand.

But this was a much deeper, more painful hurt. A professional would know how to deal with it so much better than she did.

Please, Lord. Help this dear child to understand. Take away her burden.

“It wasn't your fault,” Leah said again, her words soft. “You weren't to blame.”

Elizabeth sighed, hiccoughing a little. “I didn't want her to die. I just wanted to go home again.”

“I know. I know. It's all right. God has brought you home, where you belong.” She took a deep breath, praying she was saying the right thing. “Maybe you should tell your daadi what you told me. I know he'd want to help you feel better about it.”

She shook her head. “I can't. I don't want to say it again.”

“Would it be okay with you if I told him?”

At least Elizabeth didn't refuse that entirely. “I . . . I don't know. What if it makes him think I wanted Mammi to die?”

“I promise you he wouldn't think that.” She smoothed Elizabeth's hair. “But I won't say anything to him unless you tell me to. All right?”

Elizabeth looked at her for a long moment, as if weighing her trustworthiness. Finally she nodded. “All right,” she said.

L
eah
was up before the sun the following day. She may as well be—she'd spent a mostly sleepless night with her mind bouncing between the revelation of Elizabeth's feelings about her mother and the visit from Paula Schatz, with her concerns for Anna.

She'd prayed, caught herself worrying, and prayed again.

Why can't I be confident in Your answers to my prayers, Father? I feel so torn. For years I felt so sure that I knew the right thing to do, and now everything seems to be a challenge.

Maybe that was the point. Maybe God was reminding her that only through relying on Him would she find the right path.

I can rely on You for myself, I think. It's so much more difficult to relinquish control when it's a child I love.

Daniel had to know the anguish of guilt that had Elizabeth tied up in knots, but how could she break the child's confidence? If she did, that could destroy any hope of a further relationship between them.

And if she didn't—she didn't want to think about his reaction if she kept this from him.

She couldn't discuss this with anyone else, but she could talk to Lydia. If God had brought Lydia into her life for a reason, this might be it.

And as for Anna—

Sometime in the long night, she had come to a decision. She couldn't deal with this situation on her own any longer. Trying to protect Mammi's feelings was a good thing, but not at the cost of Anna's future.

She would talk to Daad about it. She went softly down the stairs, feeling her familiar way in the predawn darkness. Perhaps Mamm
would never need to know how worrying Anna's behavior had been. And if she did, Daadi would know the best way to bring it up.

She went quietly out the back door and across the lawn toward the stable, the dew-wet grass dampening her sneakers. The eastern sky brightened already, and the world seemed hushed, as if it held its breath, waiting for the sun's appearance.

Daadi would be in the stable, feeding the horses, talking to them as he always did. She could have a few quiet moments alone with him before the rest of the house was up and busy.

The stable door stood open, letting out a shaft of yellow light from Daad's lantern. She went in, pausing a moment on the threshold, appreciating the fact that all was just as she'd imagined it.

Daad leaned on Betty's stall door, pouring oats into her feed bucket, talking to her in that same gentle tone that he'd always used with his children as well. He looked up at her step, smiling in welcome.

“You're up early, daughter.”

“Not so early as you.”

Her father never changed, it seemed to her. His beard might be more white than brown these days, but he still moved with the same quick, wiry strength he always had. His hazel eyes watched her with love and maybe a little question.

She leaned against the stall door next to him, patting Betty's neck. The mare, nose deep in her oats, flickered her ears in greeting.

“Greedy girl,” she said, stroking her.

In the next stall Dick, one of the big Percherons, pawed and snorted impatiently. Daad chuckled.

“We'd best get the rest of them fed, if we don't want to hear about it.” He handed her a feed pail. “While we're doing it, you can tell me what has you so worried already.”

“You noticed that.” She took the pail, going to fill it at the barrel that held the oats.

“Ja, I noticed.” Daadi poured oats into Dick's feeding pail, glancing at her with a faint trace of a frown between his brows. “Is it Johnny's coming back that has you upset?”

She blinked in surprise. Other people might be talking, but—

“You know me better than that, don't you, Daad?”

“I know you're a levelheaded, responsible girl. But I also know that once you loved him with all your heart.”

“That was a long time ago. I don't have feelings for him now.”
Do I?
She hoped that was true.

“Are you sure you're not gettin' involved with him again, seeing him as you do?”

“No, Daad.” Unless she considered setting up a meeting between Johnny and Rachel getting involved.

He looked at her searchingly for a moment, as if he sensed that she was hiding something. “Ser gut,” he said at last. “So what is it then that has you worried?”

“Anna.” It was a relief to say it. “I know she has to have her rumspringa, just as the rest of us did, but I'm concerned about what she's doing.”

He nodded, leaning his elbow on the top of the last stall. The sound of contented munching filled the stable.

“I know. She's been running with English friends, maybe even a boy, hasn't she?”

She studied his weatherworn face. “Daadi, if you know, why haven't you talked to her about it?”

He smiled a little. “Five times we've gone through this, your mamm and me. Five times we've worried and prayed.”

“The rest of us didn't go so close to the line, did we?”

“Well, you were the one we didn't think we needed to worry about, settled as you were on Johnny so early. But when he left, it seemed we should have been more careful with you.”

“No one could have predicted that.” Not even her, apparently.

“And you don't know what foolishness your brothers got up to.” His eyes twinkled a little. “Them I understood a little better than you girls. Your mamm knows you and Anna best.”

Maybe that was part of the problem. With Mamm's illness, perhaps they hadn't concentrated on Anna enough.

“I haven't wanted to upset Mamm. But I think you should talk to Anna.”

He folded his hands, almost as if in prayer. “We've always believed
rumspringa to be a useful time. We give our young people a taste of what life is like on the other side, and then they can make a decision of commitment without regrets.”

She didn't have regrets, at least not about that. But still, sometimes she wondered. What would her life have been if she'd gone with Johnny? Could she have thrived, as he apparently had, without family and church?

“You're still worried.” He patted her shoulder. “Try to have trust that Anna will sow her wild oats and then come out the other side, just as the rest of you did.”

She wished she had his faith. “It's not just the English friends,” she said. “Paula Schatz stopped by yesterday to talk to me. She didn't want to upset Mamm, but she says Anna has been coming late, leaving early, sometimes not showing up at all. You know Paula. She wouldn't come to us without cause.”

Her father straightened. “That's so?” At her nod, he frowned. “This will not do. It is not right for Anna to be taking her wages without putting in an honest day's work. I'll talk to her.”

Leah gave a rueful smile. “I feel as if I've shifted my worries to your shoulders.”

He patted her hand. “That is where they belong. I'm glad you care about your sister, but you shouldn't carry the burden for her. It's enough for you to deal with your own concerns.” His fingers tightened on hers. “I'm always here for you, Leah.”

She nodded, her throat tightening. “I know you are, Daadi.”

He was still worrying about her, she could see that. But she couldn't reassure him that everything was all right with her. She didn't know that herself.

•   •   •

“What
if he doesn't come? Or what if we're late?” Rachel twisted her hands in her lap, peering out the window of Ben Morgan's car. Leah had arranged for Ben to drive them to this meeting with Johnny.

“Calm down already.” Leah patted her hand, trying to ignore the fact that her own stomach was tied in knots. “I've never seen you so ferhoodled.”

“I haven't seen my own twin in ten years.” Rachel transferred her grip to Leah's hand. “Is it any wonder? What if he doesn't come?”

“Johnny wouldn't let you down that way.” She glanced toward the driver, but Ben could be trusted to keep quiet about this trip. That was why she'd asked him to bring them.

“I hope not. But ten years with hardly a word . . . I know I'm being foolish, but I can't decide whether I want to hug him or box his ears for him.”

“Maybe both,” Leah suggested.

Ben slowed the car, peering out at the houses they passed, obviously looking for the number she'd given him. They must be nearly at Lydia's now.

Setting up this meeting had been so difficult that she'd felt at times as if she were negotiating a peace treaty. Rachel didn't want to go anyplace where she might be seen by someone who'd relay the news to her parents, and Johnny had shown signs of getting prideful again about the whole thing.

Finally Lydia had stepped into the breach, offering her home in Mifflinburg, and the time was set.

Leah and Rachel had come early, giving themselves plenty of time to do the fabric shopping that was the stated reason for their trip.

Leah hadn't expected to enjoy the shopping part of the day, but as it turned out, Rachel had found fabric for new dresses for Becky and shirts for the boys, while Leah had bought the lining and backing material for her and Elizabeth's quilts. They'd taken their time, weighing the merits of one bolt against another, but even so, they were arriving at Lydia's place a little early.

“Here we are, ladies.” Ben pulled into the driveway of a small white cottage, his gaze meeting Leah's in the rearview mirror with a look of encouragement. “You can leave your bundles in the car. I'll just sit and read the paper.”

He slid his seat back a bit and unfurled the newspaper from the seat beside him.

“Ser gut.” She opened her door, but Rachel was already out ahead of her.

The yard was tiny but beautifully kept, and several varieties of roses bloomed in a bed across the front of the house. They followed a flagstone path that led to the front door. If it were not for the electric lines running to the house from the street, this might be an Amish home.

“All right?” Leah glanced at Rachel when they reached the stoop.

Rachel nodded, her face pale but determined.

Almost before she could knock, Lydia opened the door. “Welcome to my home. Please, come in. This must be your friend Rachel.”

Rachel gave a quick nod, looking around with a certain amount of apprehension in her blue eyes. “It's kind of you to have us.”

“My pleasure.” Lydia led the way into a small living room, gesturing to the sofa. “John called a while ago to double-check the address, so I imagine he'll be along soon.” She glanced at Leah. “Perhaps when he comes, you'll join me in the kitchen for a cup of tea.”

Leah nodded.

“Maybe you should stay—” Rachel began.

Leah grasped her hands firmly. “You'll be fine. John is still your brother.”

“But he's different now. A fence-jumper. Englischer.” She glanced at Lydia.

Lydia smiled. “Like me, yes. There's no need for you to feel uncomfortable about it. My situation and John's are similar.”

Similar, but not entirely alike. Lydia had already gone over the difficult bridge to establishing a relationship with her family. John had yet to do that, but Leah hoped and prayed that today would be a first step.

A car pulled into the driveway—she could hear the tires crunch on the gravel. Her fingers pressed taut against the skirt of her dress, and her stomach seemed to turn over.

“He's here,” Rachel whispered, her eyes wide and apprehensive.

Please, Lord.
Leah's throat was so tight that she couldn't have said the words aloud.
Please let this go well. I long so much for Rachel and Johnny to be brother and sister again
.

The knock came at the door, and they could hear the soft murmur of Lydia's voice as she opened it. Rachel gasped, and her hand squeezed Leah's convulsively.

There was the sound of a familiar step, and Johnny appeared in the archway. He stood, hesitant, looking at his sister.

With a strangled sob, Rachel catapulted herself across the room and into his arms. In a moment the two of them were hugging and laughing and crying all at the same time. Leah exchanged a glance with Lydia and followed her into the kitchen.

On the verge of tears herself, Leah sat in the kitchen chair Lydia pulled out for her. She pressed her fingers against her eyes.

Lydia, not speaking, turned the gas on under a teakettle and began rattling cups and saucers, obviously giving her time to calm herself.

By the time Lydia brought the cups to the table, Leah was able to smile at her. “That's kind of you.”

“I always think a hot cup of tea does wonders for emotional upset.” She poured the brew from a squat brown teapot and then sat down across from Leah.

“I don't think they'll be ready for refreshments for a time.” Leah glanced toward the door to the living room.

“I didn't mean them,” Lydia said. “I meant you. This surely is emotional for you as well.”

“I suppose it is.” She held the cup between her hands. “Seeing them together—well, it feels so right. They were always very close, and for a long time, I couldn't get used to seeing Rachel without knowing Johnny was around somewhere.”

Lydia nodded, staring down into the contents of her cup. She and her siblings had come to a relationship, she'd said. It must have been a difficult road.

“Everyone's actions affect so many other people,” Leah went on. “Rachel just hasn't seemed heart-whole without him. Maybe she'll be better now.”

“I hope she's not counting on his coming back.” Lydia traced the rim of her cup with her finger. “It would be a nice dream, but it won't happen.”

“You think he's too happy where he is?”

“Happy?” Lydia seemed to look at the word. “I'm not sure that describes it. When you fence-jump, you never entirely leave the past behind. How could you?”