At Home in Pleasant Valley (40 page)

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you're annoyed at all of them for going behind your back and trying to help you. That you're so bent on providing for the children yourself that you think no one else can do anything.”

“If it was you—”

“If it was me, I'd maybe make the same mistake. But I hope I could count on a gut friend who'd point it out to me.”

Rachel was still for a moment, absorbing Leah's words. Was she
being prideful, holding back from accepting the love and help others wanted to share?

“You should accept all the support you're offered,” Leah said. “All of it.”

Something—some note in Leah's familiar voice—sounded an alarm in her. She knew Leah so well. She knew when something was being left unsaid.

“What, Leah?” She reached across the frame to catch Leah's hand and hold it tightly. “You're thinking of something beyond this. I can tell.”

Leah's lips pressed together tightly, as if she'd hold the words back. “I wasn't sure whether I'd tell you this or not. It's just gossip, when it comes right down to it, and maybe nothing behind it at all except someone's imagination embroidering what was said.”

A cold compress seemed to press against the back of Rachel's neck, dripping its chill down her spine. “I'd still rather hear it, whatever it is.”

“Daniel heard it when he went to the farrier's to have the horses reshod this morning. Some of the men were talking. You know how they linger there and gossip, even though they insist that it's only women who do that.”

Rachel could picture the scene well enough, the men leaning against wagons, watching the shoeing, exchanging all the news of the day. She'd never expected that she'd be the subject of their talk.

“Just tell me, Leah.”

“It maybe means nothing at all.” Reluctance dragged at Leah's words. “But they were saying that Isaac is furious about the idea that you might be leasing the farm to an Englischer, instead of selling it to him for Caleb.”

Rachel's tension eased. If that was all it was— “I already knew Isaac was angry about that, but I haven't made a decision yet. I'm thinking on what Mr. Carver said, that's all.”

“The talk is that Isaac isn't willing to wait for your decision.” Leah took a breath, seeming to push the words out. “They're saying that he's going to the bishop and the ministers with a complaint about your conduct.”

R
achel
worried at it all the way back to her parents' place to pick up Mary. Leah had continued to reassure her, repeating that it was rumor, nothing more. And even if Isaac had said that in a fit of temper, he might easily have changed his mind once he'd calmed down. And even if he did complain about her . . .

Rachel's mind refused to go there. Leah could say that she should present her own argument to the elders. That they would understand if she explained it to them.

Leah was braver than she was, for sure. Leah, with her years of teaching behind her, had a self-possession and ability to express herself that Rachel would never achieve, no matter how she tried.

If it came to an open conflict, Rachel knew perfectly well what would happen. She'd give in, restoring peace and harmony to the church.

The English world wouldn't understand that. It seemed to be built on competition, and even Johnny had been influenced by that, talking about doing better than a colleague to compete for a position.

Things were not like that among the Leit, the Amish people. Cooperation was valued, not competition. She would give up what she wanted rather than cause a rift in the family that was the church.

She turned into the lane and slowed the horse to a walk as they approached the house. Daadi was at the edge of the garden, in conversation with Jacob Esh, the son of his second cousin. Jacob, just a year out of school, was working the farm with Daad, learning as he earned a bit of money. At the moment he was plowing the garden, and he looked as if Daad was giving him a bit more advice than he thought he needed.

Fortunately for Jacob, Daadi saw her. He waved and headed across the lawn toward her.

He reached her as she mounted the porch steps.

“You're putting the garden in already, I see.”

“Ja.” He sent a glance toward Jacob, toiling across the length of the garden. “Jacob thought we should wait another week for the soil to dry more, but I'm ready to get peas and spinach in the ground.”

“How is Jacob shaping up?” She'd be happy to keep the conversation on someone other than herself for as long as possible.

Daadi gave a snort, but his eyes held a twinkle. “Like most young folks. Thinks he knows more than his elders. He's a gut boy, though, and does what I ask, I will say that.”

“He'll learn a lot from you.” She studied her father's face as she spoke. She'd have said that he never seemed to age, but something—worry or tension, maybe—was exaggerating the lines around his eyes.

“Ja, well, he'll turn into a gut farmer, I have no doubt. Maybe he'll be taking this place over one day.” He gazed across the field toward the orchard, shielding his eyes with his hand.

Her breath caught. That was the first time her father had spoken of the future he envisioned for the farm, now that Johnny was gone.

She didn't know what to say to that, so maybe it was best to say nothing. “I'd best get Mary ready to go home.”

Before she could reach for the door, Daad stopped her with a quick gesture. “She's still napping, I think, judging by the quiet. Walk down to the pond with me, ja? Komm.”

He turned, not waiting for an answer, and she fell into step with him.

He didn't speak as they walked side by side across the lawn. When she was young, she'd trailed him everywhere around the farm. Most of the time he'd been silent, but that hadn't bothered her. It had been a comfortable, accepting kind of silence, and she'd learned much even from the things he didn't say.

She waved at Jacob as they passed the garden. Both hands gripping the plow, he couldn't wave back, but he gave her a nod and a smile.

The day was warming, even though the grass dampened her shoes as they started through the grove of trees to the pond. She and Johnny
had come this way together more times than she could count, on their way to catch tadpoles in the pond, most likely, or to grasp at fireflies in the dusk.

A pang of longing pierced her heart. If she had those days back again, she would cherish her moments with him, knowing that the time would come when they'd be few and far between.

Daadi stopped at the bench he'd built on the edge of the pond, so Mamm could enjoy sitting there in the evenings. He sat down, patting the space next to him.

Rachel sat, too, bracing herself. A private conversation with Daad would undoubtedly be on the subject of her stubbornness.

“Never heard the spring peepers as loud as they are this year.” He leaned his elbows on his knees, gazing out over the still water of the pond. “You should bring the kinder down here in the evening sometime soon.”

“I will,” she said. She leaned back, staring as he did at the pond.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he hadn't brought her here to lecture her. The still surface of the pond reflected the drooping willow tree, already dressed in its pale green, and the puffy white clouds that drifted across the sky.

In the marshy area around the pond, the tan heads of cinnamon ferns lifted above the vibrant green of the unfurling fans of skunk cabbage. It was quiet, and peaceful, and as familiar to her as her own body.

Daadi spoke without turning to look at her. “Have you any new answer for me about moving back here with your children, Daughter?”

Well, she had known that was what was in his mind, hadn't she?

“No, Daadi.” Best to come right out with it. “You know how I feel about that. I appreciate that you want us, but . . .”

“Don't say that.” He turned toward her, his face tight with a tension she hadn't recognized. “Think about it, child. Don't tell me that you appreciate it. You need help, and we're your parents. You're a parent yourself, now. If one of your children needs, don't you have to go to the rescue?”

“Ja, I do.” She took a breath, despairing of ever making him understand. With Daad against her plans and Isaac threatening to complain to the elders, was there any hope for her?

“Well, then,” Daad said.

“Please, try to understand.” She put her hand on his, willing him to listen to her. “Of course I would run to the rescue, but my children are hardly more than babes.”

“The love doesn't change, no matter how old the child becomes. Your mamm and I want nothing so much as to help you raise those children. We don't want to see you wearing yourself down to nothing trying to run the farm and take care of them.”

“I'm not. You know that I'm not doing any of the work with the dairy herd now.”

“And what will you do if Isaac withdraws his help? He could do that, and then where would you be? I heard . . .” He let that trail off, but she knew what he'd intended to say.

“You've heard that he's talking of complaining to the elders about me.” Surprising that she was able to say the words so calmly.

“Ja, I've heard that.” He gave a heavy sigh. “It's a bad thing, having conflict in the family.”

Anger flared up like a candle in the dark. “And isn't it a bad thing for Isaac to try to force his brother's widow to sell out to him?”

“Isaac is as headstrong as he ever was. Maybe worse, since his father died.”

“Then you understand.” Hope blossomed for a moment.

“I know that he's difficult to deal with.” Her father shook his head. “But to think of selling to an Englischer rather than your husband's kin . . .”

“But that's the point. I wouldn't have to sell if I accepted Carver's offer.” Everyone seemed to have a different version of what the man had offered. “He wants to buy the herd, yes, but he would only lease the barn and the land.”

“Is it so important to you, to hold on to the farm in the hopes that the children will want to farm it? What if they don't?”

He hadn't let bitterness into his voice on the words, or sorrow, but she knew he must feel both. She never talked to him about Johnny. Maybe she should.

“Daadi, you know what I'm feeling. You've kept the farm, hoping that Johnny would come back, even though . . .” She stopped, not wanting to finish that.

“Even though you know he never will.” Her father finished it for her.

“Ja,” she said softly. “That is what I believe.”

Daadi closed his eyes briefly, as if he could shut out the pain. “I don't want to see you work yourself to death to hold on to the farm for the children,” he said again. “I believe you'd be better off to sell, to Isaac or the Englischer, I don't care which, and move back home with us.”

Nothing changed. No matter how hard she tried to explain, everyone around her stayed firm in his own belief that he knew what was best for her. The weight of all that disapproval was almost too much to bear.

Her father's fingers tightened on hers. “But I have already lost one child. I will not drive another away.”

It took a moment for his words to penetrate. She looked at him, her heart lifting.

“Whatever you decide, Rachel, your mamm and I will support you. If you must go before the elders, we will stand with you.”

“Denke, Daadi.” Her throat choked with tears.

He put his arm around her and drew her close. She buried her face in his shoulder, feeling the fabric of his shirt against her cheek, inhaling the familiar scent that had always meant safety and comfort.

Daadi might not believe in her dreams, but he would stand with her anyway. Maybe that would be enough.

•   •   •

Gideon
tightened a last bolt and glanced at the sky. He'd stayed longer than he'd intended at Rachel's today. Before the accident, he'd have been able to finish this part of the job in a few hours. Looked as if he wasn't up to his normal speed yet.

It will come.
Please, God, let my strength return so that I can do my work.

He started to climb down, his bad leg protesting from the effort. Halfway down, he paused to give it a rest.

Movement from the ground caught his eye. Joseph, it was, over at the goat's pen as usual. That boy was certainly devoted to his pet.

Even as Gideon thought that, Joseph took a quick step backward,
away from the pen, arms pressing rigid against his sides. He whirled, racing toward the house.

“Mammi! Mammi, komm! Schnell!”

Something was wrong, or he'd not be crying for his mother that way. Gideon made quick work of the rest of the trip and unhooked the harness. By the time Rachel and Joseph had rushed to the pen, he'd reached it, too.

Joseph grabbed his hand. “Something's wrong with Dolly. Look at her.”

“Let us see,” Rachel said, exchanging a glance with him. She moved Joseph away from the pen door and opened it. She paused, hand on the door. “Gideon?” There was a question in her voice. “You know more about goats than either of us does.”

He pried the boy's fingers from his hand and knelt beside her at the pen door. “I couldn't live on Aaron's farm without picking up a bit. Let's have a look.”

The little Nubian lay on her side near the pen opening, panting. He expected her to rise when he reached for her, but she just looked at him with what almost seemed like confidence in her eyes.

“There, now.” He stroked his hand down her side. “What's going on here?”

The answer came as soon as the words were out of his mouth. A shudder rippled through her under the pressure of his palm—an unmistakable contraction.

He kept his hand there until the contraction eased off. He patted the little goat. “Well, Joseph, I think Dolly is about to become a mammi. That's what you've been waiting for, isn't it?”

The boy nodded, eyes wide. “The twins are coming. Ain't so, Gideon?”

“They are for sure.”

Rachel rested her hand on Joseph's shoulder. “You have the box stall all ready for her. Let's move her into the barn now.”

Joseph started to reach for the goat. He stopped, seeming not to know how to move her, and gave Gideon a pleading look.

“Won't she walk if you lead her?” Rachel said, holding the pen door wide.

Joseph took hold of the thin collar the goat wore, that looked, for all the world, like a pet dog's. “Komm, Dolly. Komm.”

The goat struggled, legs waving, seeming unable to get to her feet.

“Suppose I carry her,” Gideon said quickly. He didn't like the look of that, but no sense in alarming the boy if it wasn't necessary.

Joseph nodded, his breath coming out in a whoosh of relief. He stepped back so that Gideon could reach into the pen.

He slid his hands under the goat, moving gently so as not to frighten her, and lifted her out. His leg grumbled a bit as he rose, cradling the goat against his body.

“Lead the way, Joseph.”

The boy rushed to the barn door, knocking his straw hat off in his hurry to slide it open. He scooped up the hat and raced to open the door to one of the box stalls.

The stall had been cleaned, he'd guess, to the last inch, and a fresh bed of straw covered the wooden planks. Gideon knelt, depositing the goat on the straw that Joseph fluffed up. The boy promptly sat down next to her.

“Joseph, she can probably do this part without you. Komm. Supper is ready.”

Joseph's face crumpled at his mamm's words. “I can't leave her. She needs me.” He reached toward Gideon, tugging on his pant leg. “You'll stay, won't you, Gideon?”

“I'm sure Gideon has much to do—” Rachel began, but he interrupted her.

“It's fine. I'm glad to stay.” He sat down on the floor next to Joseph and leaned back against the side of the stall.

Rachel's face lit with gratitude. A man would do a lot for a smile like that, not that he wouldn't have stayed anyway, since Joseph seemed to need him.

“Well, if you won't come in for supper, I'll bring something out for the two of you.” Her gaze met his. “Denke, Gideon,” she said.

When she'd left, the barn seemed steeped in stillness. The big draft
horses, who were the only other occupants, watched them curiously for a few minutes and then turned back to their feed buckets.