At Home in Pleasant Valley (38 page)

There were a lot of things Gideon would like to say to that, but only one that really made a difference. “Why did he come to you?”

“I had a little trouble figuring that out myself.” His eyes crinkled. “Talked around and around about how worried he was about Rachel and those children and how he wanted what was best for everyone. But when he finally got to the point, it seemed he doesn't like our taking Rachel to market. ‘Encouraging her to be willful' was what he said.”

Gideon could only stare at him. “What is willful about earning money to support her children?”

The twinkle in Aaron's eyes brightened. “I expect Isaac thinks anyone's being willful who doesn't do exactly what he says.”

Gideon found the twinkle reassuring. “And what did you tell him?”

“That I appreciated his concern, but that decision was up to Rachel.”

Gideon blew out a breath. “That's what I'd expect from you. So why did you look so worried when you asked about me and Rachel? Just because Lovina's not happy unless she's matching folks up in pairs—”

“It's not that.” Aaron leaned his elbow on the railing, turning toward him. The pose was casual, but his expression wasn't. “Rachel Brand is a fine woman, and nothing would make me happier than to see you settled with a wife and children.”

Gideon started to speak, but Aaron was clearly not finished, so he held his tongue.

“We'd be happy if you and Rachel made a match of it, that's certain sure. But if you were doing it out of a debt to Ezra, that wouldn't be right for either of you.”

He couldn't be angry with his brother, not when Aaron was looking at him with such caring in his eyes. But he also couldn't tell Aaron what he felt, when he didn't know himself.

“Don't worry,” he said finally. “I promise you, that wouldn't be the reason if ever I did ask Rachel Brand to be my wife.”

He shoved himself away from the stall and headed for the door.

“We're not finished in here. Where are you going?”

“To find Rachel. To tell her what Isaac is trying to do.”

Aaron moved quickly. He put an arm the size and strength of a young tree trunk across the doorway. “Just hold on a minute. You go find Rachel looking like a thundercloud, do you think people aren't going to notice?”

“Let them notice.”

“And then there will be more folks thinking the same way Lovina is.” Aaron clapped him on the shoulder. “Komm, simmer down a bit first. You can talk to her more natural-like over lunch.”

Gideon itched to push his way past his brother—to find Rachel and tell her exactly what Aaron had told him.

But maybe Aaron had a point. If people were already talking about them, speculating about them—well, did he really want to stoke that fire any hotter?

And then there was the fact that this would hurt Rachel. She was so sensitive to Isaac's feelings, even if he didn't seem to return the favor.

Gideon's jaw clenched. Probably the real reason that he wanted to put his fist through the board they'd just put up was that this was going to make Rachel's decisions even more difficult, and there wasn't a thing he could do about that.

•   •   •

It
was wrong to be angry with a brother. Rachel kept reminding herself of that as she worked her way toward Isaac. It was against the teaching of the Bible, and against the beliefs of the church.

She should not tell herself that Isaac had been wrong to try to control her actions by intervening with Aaron that way. One sin did not excuse another.

She would talk to him calmly. She would make it clear to him that she had no intention of giving up the market with the Zooks. That she needed the income it provided to support her children.

Around her, the work frolic was coming to an end. Some buggies had already moved off down the lane, mostly women who were headed
home to fix supper for their families. Small groups of people still clustered here and there—the women chatting as they packed up boxes of cleaning supplies or food left over from the lunch; the men catching up on the latest news now that the work was finished.

Isaac was at the center of one such group. He leaned back against the split-rail fence, elbows resting on it as he talked, looking relaxed and expansive, the center of attention.

Rachel halted a few feet from the group. What she had to say wasn't for everyone else to know. If she waited until later—

Isaac caught her gaze, just for a second. Then he turned back to his conversation.

He was keeping her waiting deliberately. A fresh spark of anger ignited and had to be extinguished. She'd been fighting that battle since Gideon spoke to her.

Gideon had been reluctant to tell her, she suspected, but he'd been right to do so. If Isaac was going to people behind her back, she needed to know that. As for what she was going to do about it—

The men's conversation ended on a rumble of laughter, and Isaac turned toward her. “Do you need something, Rachel?”

His tone seemed to imply that of course she did and that it was natural for her to come to him with her needs. Fortunately no one could see how tense her hands were under the concealment of her apron.

When she didn't speak right away, he raised heavy brows. Then his gaze shifted to someone behind her, and his features rearranged themselves into a smile.

“Isaac. Daughter.” Her father came to a stop next to her, surveying Isaac with an expression she didn't understand. “You wouldn't be talking business, would you?”

Isaac straightened, as if reminding himself that his casual pose was disrespectful to the older man. “Not on my account. Rachel's the one who wants to see me.”

The men's gazes swiveled toward her, pinning her to the spot. Was it going to be easier or more difficult to bring this up in front of her father? She wasn't sure. She simply knew that she couldn't keep silent. Isaac had gone too far.

“Perhaps we could talk more privately,” she suggested.

Isaac stared at her for a moment, then shrugged and moved a few feet off to the side. It was hardly out of earshot of the other men, but they drifted off, leaving her alone with her father and her brother-in-law.

She took a breath, willing herself to calm. “I understand you had a conversation with Aaron Zook about me. About the fact that I've been going to market with him and Lovina.”

“I might have done. Hard to remember everybody I've talked to.” But his gaze slid away from hers, denying the casual tone of his words.

“According to Aaron, you want him to stop taking me to the market.”

“I suppose Gideon told you that.” Isaac's voice snapped the words, and she could sense her father turn to look at her.

“Does it matter how I learned of it? Aaron would have no reason to make up a story about it.”

“No, he would not.” The low rumble of Daad's voice startled her. “Is this true, Isaac?”

Isaac's jaw clenched until he looked as stubborn as the mules he used to pull his plow. “It seems to me that Rachel would be better off staying home with her children than leaving them to spend the day at the market, talking to outsiders, taking advice from folks who aren't even her kin.”

She was ready to defend herself, but before she could speak, her father beat her to it.

“Are you saying that Rachel's children are being neglected because they spend her market days with their grossmutter and me?”

“Now, now, I didn't mean that.” Isaac backpedaled away from the implication she was sure he'd intended. “But a young widow has to be careful about the appearance she creates.”

Words pressed at her lips, demanding to be let out. “A young widow who is earning money to support her three young children is surely creating the right impression, don't you think?”

“You wouldn't have to earn money at all if you'd just listen to me.” Goaded, Isaac's temper, always a little uncertain, slid from his control, his face flushing and his hands closing. “You're just being stubborn, clinging to the farm instead of taking my offer for it, as Ezra surely would want.”

There it was again—that idea that he, and he alone, knew what Ezra would have wanted. Rachel had to clamp her lips shut to keep from flaring out at him. They were dangerously close to an open breach, and she would shrink back from that, whether Isaac did or not.

“We none of us know what Ezra would want.” Her father said the words that she was thinking. “The farm belongs to Rachel and her children now, and it's for Rachel to decide about selling.”

Given how her father felt about the subject, that statement astonished her. If Isaac had gone about this in a different way, he'd have probably been able to get Daad lined up firmly on his side. Maybe she was fortunate that Isaac didn't have a lot of tact.

Isaac glared. “You can't think that Rachel can make a go of the dairy farm herself. It's nonsense. And who is she going to sell to, if not to me? That Englischer who's been hanging around?”

Daad swung to stare at her, and she could feel the warmth mounting her cheeks. Isaac had done that deliberately, but how had he even known about the man?

“Rachel?” Her father was looking at her with doubt and questioning in his eyes.

“I suppose you're talking about Mr. Carver from the dairy. He has been to see me twice.”

“About dairy business?” Daad looked a little reassured at that. After all, most of the Amish dairy farms in the valley did business with Carver.

“In a way.” She wasn't ready to talk about this yet, but she was being pushed irrevocably toward a decision she wasn't sure she wanted to make.

Isaac snorted. “He wants to buy the farm, ain't so? Everyone knows he's trying to expand. I'd never believe that my own brother's wife would think of selling his farm to an Englischer instead of to his own family.”

“It's not like that at all.” She pressed her fists hard against her skirt, trying to hang on to the calm that was rapidly deserting her. “He's not trying to buy the farm.”

“Then what does he want?”

Daad's question demanded an answer. She was going to have to come out with the man's offer and why it mattered to her. She'd have to
find out if the dream that had been drifting through her mind more and more lately would stand the light of day.

She fixed her gaze on her father's face, praying he'd understand. “He offered to buy the dairy herd. He'd lease the barn and the pastures, paying me rent for them. That way, I could keep the farm for the children's future, and I'd still have the house and enough land for my needs.”

That was hurt in his face now—hurt that she was considering this without talking to him first and embarrassment that he was hearing about it in public.

“You might as well break up the farm completely as do that.” Isaac had found his voice, and it exploded with fury. “The idea that you'd deal with him—and what do you need land for, anyway?”

There was the question. She had to answer it. Ready or not, as the children called when they played at hide-and-seek in the twilight.

“I need it for the flowers and shrubs I'm growing. I'm going to start a nursery business of my own.”

Silence greeted her words. She looked at her father, praying she'd see support, or at least understanding, in his face.

He stared at her. Everyone within earshot stared at her. And no one spoke.

She had never felt so alone in her life.

R
achel
could almost tally the opinions of her community by counting up the number of people who'd come to call the next day. It was an off-Sunday, when they didn't meet for worship, so it was given over to visiting family and friends.

Her parents had been notable by their absence today. Even the children had noticed it, wondering aloud where Grossmutter and Grossdaadi were. She hadn't had an answer.

She gave the counter a last wipe, knowing she was making work simply to avoid the moment when she'd have to sit down alone in the silent living room.

Enough. She stalked through to the room, sat down in her favorite rocking chair, and picked up the basket of mending that sat near at hand on the table.

Moments later the dress of Becky's that she was shortening for Mary lay in her lap, the needle stuck through the hem, while her mind was caught in the now-familiar groove of worrying about her relationship with her parents.

Leah had sent Daniel over with the children for a short visit, a mute gesture of support. Aaron and Lovina had stopped by, Lovina's merry chatter filling up the silent corners of the old house. But Mamm and Daadi hadn't come, their absence clearly proclaiming their disapproval for all to see.

Johnny had been strong enough, or willful enough, to pursue his dream without their consent or support. She didn't think she was. How could she keep insisting that her way was right, if those who loved her best thought it wrong?

A tear dropped on the light blue cotton of the child's dress, and she blotted it away.

Lights crossed the front windows, and tires crunched on the gravel lane. She put the mending basket on the floor, her movement jerky. What if it was Carver, come to press her for a decision again?

She crossed to the window and peered out. Relief swept through her, gentling every frazzled nerve. It was Johnny.

By the time he reached the porch, she had the door open.

“I didn't expect you tonight.” She hugged him, pressing her cheek against his clean-shaven one, aware as she always was of the sense of oddness about that. “How gut it is to see you.”

“Good to see you, too.” He gave her an extra squeeze, his gaze sweeping the room. “It's okay?”

She nodded. “No one else is here.” She turned away, busying herself with taking his jacket and hanging it on the back of a chair. “It's been quiet today.”

“I heard.”

She swung toward him, staring into the blue eyes that were so like her own. “Heard what?”

“That you announced at the work frolic that you were starting your business. That the folks weren't exactly supportive.”

“But . . .” Her mouth was probably gaping. “How did you find out about that?”

He shrugged, the movement fluid under the fine knit of the shirt he wore—blue, to match his eyes. “I have my sources.”

“I don't understand what you mean.” Who among the Plain People in the valley had a relationship with Johnny, other than herself? “Did Leah tell you?”

His gaze slid away from hers. “Never mind that.” He set the bag he carried on the round table where the children had played a board game earlier. “I know you're disappointed about Daad, but you can't let it get you down.”

“That's not so easy.” Her hands gripped each other. “I'm not like you. I can't go against them.”

“You won't have to.” He clasped her tense hands in his, and his
strong grip warmed her. “Daad will come around. You'll see. Give Mamm a chance to work on him.”

“He didn't come around for you.” Her fingers tightened on his. How much Mamm would give to be here right now, touching him, even just looking at him.

“Think a minute.” Johnny's tone was brisk, as if he'd willed all emotion away. “The two things aren't the same at all. What you want to do isn't against the Ordnung. It isn't anything that dozens of other Amish right here in Pleasant Valley aren't doing. Starting a business, especially one that you can run right out of your home, is perfectly acceptable.”

“Those other dozens aren't young widows whose family thinks she ought to do something else.” But even as she said the words, she felt heartened by Johnny's support.

“Daad will come around,” he repeated. “You know he wants what's best for you and the children, and once he sees this is it, he'll be there for you.”

“Maybe.” She wanted to believe that. “And will Isaac come around, too?”

“You worry too much about what people think.” He pulled out a chair and sat down at the table, unzipping the bag he'd carried in. “Who cares what Isaac thinks? I want you to take a look at this instead.” He slid a folder onto the table.

She cared, although it seemed her brother had moved so far from the Amish way of thinking that he wouldn't understand that. She cared about the opinions of every member of her church family, and especially about those of Ezra's brother.

Still, did that caring mean she should give up something she felt was right for her?

She pressed her fingers against her temple, wishing that would still the argument that raged in her mind.

Please, Father. Please guide me, because I don't know what to do. I want to follow Your will, but I must understand what it is.

“Okay, here it is.” Johnny spread out a sheaf of papers. “Tell me what you think of this.”

She looked. Blinked. And looked again. It seemed to be—it was—an advertisement, like one that might appear in the newspaper.

Rachel's Garden,
it read.
Perennials, annuals, shrubs—40 Black Creek Road. No Sunday sales.

She touched the page with her fingertips, marveling that seeing the simple words in black and white should make her dream seem so close to reality.

“It's beautiful.” She blinked back the tears that filled her eyes. “But I can't—it's not appropriate—”

“Sure it is.” Johnny flipped open another folder. “You think I didn't do my homework on this? Look, here are the ads put in by other Amish businesspeople. If they can do it, why can't you?”

She leaned over his shoulder to look. That was true enough. No one objected, so far as she knew. Even Bishop Mose's harness shop had an advertisement.

“Most people put small box ads in the local shopping paper. And in the booklets put out by the tourist association. You can put this up on the bulletin boards in stores, too.” He swung around to face her, his gaze intent. “I'm not urging you to do anything that would cause problems with the church. I wouldn't do that.”

The concern in his voice touched her. Johnny, who had seemed so impatient with her need to follow the rules, was now going out of his way to do so for her.

She touched his shoulder lightly. “You've done all this for me?”

Johnny put his hand over hers. “You've done more than that for me.” His fingers tightened. “Just seeing me—making me a part of your life again—”

He stopped, his voice choking, and ducked his head. The light from the lantern above the table reflected from the gold of his hair, cut short over his ears.

“Johnny—” A mix of love and loss wrapped tightly around her throat. “I didn't see that it mattered so much to you. I thought you were happy in your new life.”

His shoulders shrugged, the movement jerky under her hand. “Happy? I don't know if
happy
is the right word. I'm satisfied, I guess.”
His fingers tightened on hers so hard she nearly gasped. “I wouldn't give it up, Rachel. Understand that. I couldn't. I'll never come back. But it still feels as if a part of me is missing. It still hurts.”

She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his hair. He was her brother, her twin, the other half of herself, she'd always thought. “I wish I could make it better.”

“I know.” For just a moment he leaned into her. Then he straightened. “I made my choice, and I don't regret it. But I can't forget about you, or stop trying to help you. When Gid told me about it . . .”

He stopped, his voice trailing off.

“Gideon? You were talking to Gideon Zook?”

“Yeah, well, I ran into him.” He rustled the papers into order, needlessly, it seemed. “Just happened to see him, and we got to talking. Anyway, I should have heard about it from you, shouldn't I? Why didn't you let me know what was going on?”

“I . . . I wasn't sure how you'd feel about it. The last time I saw you—”

He grimaced, as if that memory was still sore. “Guess that wasn't one of the good times, was it? Well, it doesn't change anything between us. You're still my sister. I still love you.”

“Ser gut.” She smiled, touching his face lightly. “I love you, too.”

But even as she sat down next to him and listened to his ideas for her business, she wondered if starting it was really possible.

And she wondered even more how and why her brother had been talking to Gideon Zook.

•   •   •

“Why
did you talk to my brother about me?”

Gideon's gaze jerked to the doorway of his shop, the metal piece he'd been working on clattering to the table.

Rachel stood there, her slender shape dwarfed by the giant doors of what had been one of the earliest barns built in the valley.

“Rachel?”

He walked toward her, his mind trying to process her words. Had she found out about his arrangement with Johnny? How could she have?

“I'm sorry—I'm just surprised to see you.” Playing for time, he
gestured her in. “You've never been in my shop before, have you? Komm. Welcome.”

She stalked into the barn with quick, determined strides, very unlike the way she usually moved. Waves of irritation, if not outright anger, swept toward him, and she shook her head, either to say that she hadn't been there before or to shake off his question.

“I need to talk to you. You didn't come today.”

“I have to finish the blades for the windmill before I go any further.” He motioned toward the worktable behind him. “Would you like to see?”

She gave the work area a cursory glance. “I want to know about you and Johnny.”

Maybe it was a gut thing to have the reputation of taking things slow and steady. At least he didn't have to rush an answer to that. He leaned against the worktable. “What about Johnny?”

She made a short, chopping gesture with her right hand. “Johnny said that you'd told him about—about what happened at the work frolic. About Daad . . .”

Her voice faded. The annoyance in her face faded, too, as if a lamp had been extinguished. Pain took its place, so strong that it punched him in the heart.

He longed to protect her. Comfort her. He couldn't, but he also couldn't resist touching her shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly.

She leaned against him. It startled him, the feel of her head against his shoulder. He held her, not letting himself think of the past or the future, just cherishing the moment.

It was over too soon. She straightened, pulling away, giving a shaky laugh.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so foolish. I just . . . I just need to know what's happening.”

“I see.” He did. But if he told her everything, how would she react? “I saw Johnny, ja.”

She swung toward him. “But why? I mean—you know he's under the bann. Why did you talk to him—tell him?”

“Ja, I know, but it seemed to me he had a right to know.” Memory
painted an image in his mind, and he smiled. “I remember how you two were as children. Like two peas in a pod, you were, and just as close, ain't so?”

Her lips curved, almost reluctantly, her face softening so that for an instant she was that child he remembered. “Ja. We were that.”

“Well, so, I thought you could use some family support. He's family, for all he looks and sounds like an Englischer.”

“He is family.” She looked stronger, just saying the words. Taking a deep breath, she seemed to shed some of the tension that had been driving her. “But your talking to him without telling me—that I didn't like.”

“I'm sorry.” If she didn't like his speaking to Johnny, he could just imagine how she'd feel about his plotting with Johnny behind her back.

“But I guess you did it for the best.” She reached toward him in a movement that seemed impulsive. “Denke, Gideon.”

He clasped her hand gently in his, nodding.

For a moment they stood there, hands clasped. And then she moved away.

Now it was his turn to take a deep breath. He needed it. But apparently the storm was over.

She was looking around the shop, seeming to see it for the first time since she'd walked in the door. “You said you had to work in the shop today?”

“Ja.” Relief at the change of subject washed through him. He swung his hand toward the work table. “Once I finish the blades, I'll be back up on the tower again.”

She moved between the table and the workbench, glancing around at the workbenches, the generator for his power tools, the wooden partitions against the back wall that held lumber. The corner nearest him was fitted up as his office, with his always-cluttered desk and his filing cabinets.

He perched on the corner of the desk, watching her. What did she see when she looked around? He always saw the work that had saved his life when he hadn't wanted to go on.

“It's a gut big space for your work.”

“Believe me, Aaron hated to give up this old barn, even though he has a fine new one. Lovina says he'd have filled it up with more goats if she hadn't jumped in and convinced him I needed it for my shop.”

“Lovina is a determined woman.”

“Ja, she is.” Interfering, some might say, but he appreciated her. She'd known what he needed. He patted the gray metal file cabinets. “If not for her, I'd probably keep my records in a shoe box.”