At Home in Pleasant Valley (21 page)

A wave of dizziness swept over her, and she fought it off. She had to hang on. The family depended on her.

She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “You know that it is not our way to go to the law.”

“This time the law's going to come to you, I'm afraid. It seems like Anna's been doing a lot that's not your way. Now, you know I'm not one to come down hard on Amish youngsters who are just having fun during their rumspringa. But this time folks got hurt.”

Pain had a stranglehold on her throat. She forced out the words. “What will happen to Anna?”

He shrugged. “Not really up to me. I just investigate it. The district attorney will have to decide whether he wants to prosecute.”

Prosecute. The word had a terrifying sound.

The chief patted her hand. “You take my advice and talk to your folks about getting a lawyer for Anna. That's the best thing they can do right now.” He settled his hat firmly on his head and walked off toward the elevator.

Leah sagged against the wall. She had to have a moment to gather herself before she could go back into the room. Had to think, had to decide.

But she knew that no matter how long she thought, she wouldn't come up with any satisfying way to tell her parents.

D
aniel
stepped off the elevator at the hospital. It wasn't hard to figure out where to go—a waiting room was spilling folks out into the hallway, as most of the church district seemed to be here to give support to the Beiler family.

That was the strength of being Amish. The People were always there for one another. Not saints, just ordinary folks with their share of faults, but when one was hurting, all were there to lend a hand.

He halted in the doorway, returning muted greetings and nods as his gaze searched the room for Leah. There she was, making her way from one person to another, probably expressing her parents' appreciation for their kindness.

Bishop Mose Yoder clapped him on the shoulder, a smile lighting his gentle face. “Have you heard the good news? Anna has been waking up, even talking to her mamm and daad. Praise God, it looks as if she will be well.”

“That is good news.” Daniel murmured a silent prayer. Both of them knew that even if Anna recovered physically, she'd have other troubles that needed praying for.

His gaze followed Leah's progress through the room. He'd had his final answer from her, but that didn't keep him from wanting to help her, as a friend and a neighbor, if nothing more.

She turned toward him, and he sucked in a sharp breath. Suffering had drawn her skin taut. Her eyes were dark and shadowed with it, and she looked as if she couldn't manage another word.

He slid through the crowd and took her arm. “Komm,” he murmured, and led her out of the room, not caring what anyone thought of that.

The hallway wasn't much better, with people moving back and forth, soles squeaking on the tile floor. He steered her down the hall and around the corner. There was a small, empty room with benches, a sort of chapel, he supposed. He steered her inside and led her to a seat.

She sank down with a sigh and then looked at him with a question in her eyes. “Did you need to talk with me, Daniel?”

“Not as much as you needed to sit down and be quiet for a bit.”

That startled the ghost of a smile from her. “They are being kind, but you're right. It is tiring to keep saying the same things over and over.”

“I won't make you say them again to me, but I understand from Bishop Mose that Anna is waking up. That's wonderful gut news.”

Her eyes lightened. “It is. She knows us, that's the important thing. The doctors say it looks as if she won't have to have surgery.” She brushed away a tear that had spilled onto her cheek. “I know it's foolish of me, but I can't help wondering what people are saying about what she did.”

He leaned toward her to take her hands in his. “It doesn't matter,” he said firmly. “Whatever Anna did, once she confesses she will be forgiven and loved.”

She nodded, her gaze downcast, as if she looked at their hands. “I know. Just as I know that everyone is helping. Mahlon told me that you'd been over to do the milking. Matthew, too.”

“It's gut for the boy. It helps him to remember what it means to be Amish.”

If it made her feel better to talk about that, he would oblige, but he couldn't help but see that thinking of Anna's confession before the church distressed her.

“The horse and buggy are back safe, too,” he went on. “One of the Esch boys showed up with them this morning.”

“Ser gut,” she murmured, but he thought her mind was elsewhere.

“If you want to be by yourself—” he began.

Her fingers tightened on his. “No.” The word came out quickly, and then she bit her lip. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't impose on you.”

“You are not imposing.” He cradled her hands in his, wishing he knew some way to ease the burden she carried. “You can say anything you want to me, Leah. It will go no further.”

“I know.” She looked at him then, her eyes dark with misery. “The police chief talked to me last night. He said that Anna may have to face charges in a court.” Tears spilled over again. “I don't know what to do.” Her voice dropped to a ragged whisper. “I don't know how to help her.”

Her pain pummeled his heart. He moved to the bench next to her. Tentatively, he put his arm around her, intent only on giving comfort.

She turned into his shoulder, her tears wetting his shirt. Her whole body shook with the sobs.

He stroked her back, murmuring softly to her as he would to one of the children. “It will be all right.”

That was the best thing to say right now. The only thing. He just prayed that it was true.

•   •   •

Leah
frowned down at the quilt patch she was piecing as she sat in Anna's hospital room. She'd have to take those erratic stitches back out again. It was surely true that they reflected her state of mind.

She glanced at her sister. Anna napped, face turned away from her. In the three days that had passed since the accident, things had settled into a more normal routine. She, Mamm, and Daad had taken turns being here at the hospital, but it had been a battle to convince Mamm that she didn't have to be with Anna twenty-four hours a day.

The plain truth was that every time Leah heard a step in the hallway, she feared it might be the police. The prospect of her sister being charged hung over her, and she still didn't feel they'd gotten from Anna a complete story of what had happened. If the worst came, somehow they must try to protect Mamm.

Leah couldn't think about that trouble without remembering weeping in Daniel's arms. He'd comforted her without question when that was what she'd needed. She'd never realized before how much it meant to have someone to lean on.

She stared down at the quilt patch. Her life still resembled a crazy quilt rather than this neat arrangement of geometric shapes.

Was her volunteer work at the clinic really so important that she
couldn't give it up for the sake of marriage to a good man? For the sake of those children she already loved?

Maybe the truth was that she was afraid. Afraid she'd fail at loving, as she had with Johnny.

Not that Daniel was offering love. Everything else—a stable life, children, a home, support, and security. But not love.

Anna moved slightly in the bed. Her eyes flickered open, then shut again at the sight of Leah.

Leah touched Anna's hand, shaking off her own perplexities. This time, perhaps, she could get the full story from her sister. Anna couldn't keep escaping into sleep. She had to face the situation.

“How do you feel?”

“Tired. I need to sleep some more.” Anna kept her eyes closed. She'd done that as a child, refusing to face doing something she didn't want to do.

“You've slept enough,” Leah said briskly, pushing the button to elevate the head of the bed. “The nurses say you should be getting up more now. You need to get your strength back.”

“I don't want to.” Her eyes snapped open, and she frowned at Leah. “Where's Mamm?”

“Home, getting some rest, I hope.”

Anna had grace enough to look a little embarrassed at the reminder. “Is she all right?”

“As all right as she can be under the circumstances.” They both knew that Mamm was troubled by more than Anna's being hurt.

Anna's fingers pleated the edge of the sheet. “What about—what about the other people in the accident? How are they?”

It was the first time Anna had seemed willing to have a real conversation about what had happened. That was a good sign, surely.

“The Esch family is fine, they say. Just some bumps and bruises. Daad is making arrangements to have their buggy fixed.”

Anna smoothed out the pleats. “And the others?”

“Your English friends were not badly hurt. They've all gone home from the hospital.”

“Have any of them come to see me?”

“No.” Better the plain truth than soft evasions. None of the English teens who'd been with her that night had come to see her.

“They—they want to. I know that.”

Leah couldn't say the words that trembled on her lips about the kind of friends who had led Anna into such trouble and then left her there. That would only make her sister more defensive.

“Maybe so,” she said, her tone neutral. “Everyone from the church has been here, though, at one time or another. And brought food to the house, and took over the chores for Daad and Levi so they could be here.”

Anna nodded, head down.

Leah felt exasperation mixed with the love she had for her sister. “Anna, why did you do it? Did the others talk you into driving that car?”

“Nobody talked me into it.” She stared at Leah, her face set. “I wanted to. It's not so bad. I'll bet the boys drove cars lots of times.”

“If they did, at least they never had an accident. That buggy—” Her throat tightened. “Anna, don't you see how dangerous it was? If you'd hit the buggy full on, that family would be having a funeral right now. You of all people should know what to watch out for.”

Anna's lips trembled, and her eyes filled with tears. “I didn't mean to drive too fast. The car just went so easy when I touched the pedal. All of a sudden I saw the reflector on the buggy, coming up so fast. I swerved to avoid it, Leah. I did.”

In that instant she was Leah's baby sister again. Leah bent over the bed, putting her arms around Anna in a fierce hug. “I know. I know you're sorry for what you did.”

For an instant Anna clung to her. Then she stiffened and pulled away.

“Well—I'm sorry they got hurt. But I bet lots of people have accidents when they're learning to drive.”

In other words, she wasn't sorry about driving the car. Leah grasped the bed railing. “You're not lots of people, Anna. You're Amish. We don't drive cars.”

Anna didn't respond. She averted her face, staring out the window.

The closeness Leah had felt with her sister disappeared as quickly as leaves blown by the wind. With her face set and averted, in her print hospital gown, Anna looked like a stranger.

Leah should talk to her. Should try to impress on her how wrong she'd been, how much trouble she might be in.

She looked at the sister she no longer seemed to know. Would anything she said reach her? Or was it too late?

•   •   •

With
Anna taking refuge in sleep again, Leah headed for the elevator. Maybe a cup of hot coffee and a few minutes out of the hospital room would ease some of the tension.

She rounded the corner and came to a stop. John Kile stepped off the elevator. He carried a tissue-wrapped bunch of flowers in one hand.

“I know.” He smiled with a touch of regret. “You're going to say that it's not a good idea for me to visit Anna.”

“No. I was just going to say that I'm surprised to see you here. But it is kind of you.” Her throat choked with tears. What was wrong with her that she allowed simple gestures of kindness to affect her so? “I'm sorry—” The rest of the words wouldn't come out, not without tears, in any event.

John grasped her elbow and piloted her through the nearest door. It was the same meditation room where Daniel had brought her for refuge. John took her to the nearest bench. The same bench.

He sat down next to her, laying the flowers aside and taking both her hands in his. “Don't take it so hard. Please, Leah. I know Anna is your baby sister, but she's not your responsibility.”

For a moment she just took comfort from the gentleness of his touch and the caring that was obvious in his voice. Then the words penetrated, and she shook her head.

“That's what makes her my responsibility, no matter how old she is.” Her voice might be wavering a little, but she was sure. She looked at Johnny, the tears wet on her cheeks. “Don't you know that?”

He blinked. “I didn't mean— Well, of course you love her and want to take care of her. But Anna's eighteen now. You have to let her make her own choices.”

Part of what he said was right. But part of it was wrong. Anna was
and would always be her baby sister, and she could never stop trying to protect her and take care of her. That was what siblings did.

If she said that to him, it would be the same as telling him that he'd let his sister down, and she couldn't do that, not when he and Rachel were just beginning to restore their relationship.

He seemed to take her silence for agreement. “You'll see. She'll come out of this a stronger, better person.”

Anna needed to come out of it a humbled, repentant person, but Johnny had gone far from that Amish viewpoint, it seemed.

He stroked her hands gently. “Leah, I didn't really come here because of Anna. You must know that. I came because of you.”

“Because you're my friend.”

“Because I have feelings for you.” His grip tightened, and he leaned toward her, face intent. “Maybe the timing's bad, but I can't hold this back any longer. I still care about you. I knew that the minute I saw you again. We were always meant to be together. You know that, don't you?”

She could only stare at him, her mind spinning hopelessly out of control.

“You feel the same way, I know you do.” He sounded exactly like the young, impetuous Johnny of ten years ago. “I was going to give it more time, but I can't. Dr. Brandenmyer has offered me a two-year contract, and I have to give him an answer. I know you wouldn't want to stay here, but we can go away together. We can get married, you can go to school, we can travel—we can do all the things you've always just dreamed about.”

The spinning stopped. Certainty pooled in her heart and mind. Somehow, in these past difficult days, she'd come to know where she belonged. She knew the place to which God had called her.

Maybe Johnny understood before she even spoke, because the eagerness faded from his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” she said gently. “I'm sorry.”

Anger flashed in his face. “You're still afraid.”