At Home in Pleasant Valley (6 page)

“It does. But you'd best be careful of expressing too much wisdom, anyway. Someone might think you'd make a gut minister.”

He shook his head. “Like most, I pray the lot never falls on me. My father is the bishop of our church district back in Lancaster County, and I know how heavy a burden it can be.”

Her steps slowed, and she smiled. “Now I've learned something more about you.”

“Is that gut?” He could get used to that smile, to the way it made her green eyes fill with light.

“It satisfies my regrettable curiosity, I'm afraid. Yours is the first new family in our church district in quite a few years. You've given us something to talk about besides who's courting whom and whether the price of milk will go up.”

That sort of curiosity was the last thing he wanted, but it was inevitable. “Both of those things are more important than anything you might learn about me.”

“People are always more interesting to me than cows,” she said lightly.

He found himself wondering what she had been like at eighteen, before John Kile had left her behind. More like her pert sister than he'd have originally guessed, perhaps, before grief and disappointment had taken that liveliness away.

“Not more important to a dairy farmer,” he said.

They rounded a row of cars. At the end of the next row, two motorcycles were parked.

Three Amish boys surrounded one of them, gawking at the boy who'd been brave enough, or foolish enough, to climb onto the motorcycle. Daniel stopped, taking in what he saw. The boy was Matthew.

For a moment Daniel froze, feeling as if he'd taken a pitchfork in the stomach. Then he surged forward, grabbed his son, and pulled him off the contraption.

“What are you doing?” It was all he could do to keep from shaking the boy. “Is this how you behave when I let you go with your friends? Is it?”

He was vaguely aware of Leah drawing the other boys away.

“Jacob and Thomas Esch and Gabriel Stoltzfus.” It was very much her teacher voice. “You go back to your parents right now, before you find yourselves in trouble.”

Murmurs of agreement, and the other boys ran off, leaving them alone. Daniel looked at his son, and Matthew stared back at him.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself, Matthew?”

His son's face was white and set. “I didn't do anything so bad. It's just a motorcycle.”

“It's not for us, as you well know.”

Something flashed in Matthew's eyes, an expression he'd begun to dread. One that made his son look like a stranger.

“I rode on one once, with a friend of Mamm's.” He spat the words out. “She didn't think it was wrong. I didn't either. It was fun.”

The pitchfork in his belly twisted. He heard the quick intake of Leah's breath. He turned to her, knowing his anger was irrational but not able to stop it.

“Ja.” He snapped off the word. “You heard. My children lived in the English world for two years. Now you really know something about me.”

Holding Matthew by the arm, he charged off.

•   •   •

“Don't
you bother to tell me you're not interested in Daniel Glick.” Barbara paused at the kitchen door on her way out on Monday afternoon, clearly determined to have the last word on the subject. “I saw you together at the Mud Sale with my own eyes already.”

She waved, chuckling a little at her comment, and scurried off the porch toward the waiting buggy.

Leah counted to ten, keeping a smile pinned on her face with an effort. By the time she reached eight, Barbara was in her buggy and heading down the lane.

Leah turned to her mother, frustration building to the boiling point. If she didn't say something to someone, she'd burst with it.

“When is this matchmaking going to stop? Can't I even speak to a man without the busybodies making plans for a wedding?”

Mamm continued moving a batch of snickerdoodles from the cooling rack to a plastic container, her face placid. “Ach, Leah, you take Barbara's teasing too much to heart. She doesn't mean anything by it. Anyway, you know how she is.”

“I know too well how my sister-in-law is, but she's not the only one. I heard the whispers after church yesterday.”

Leah picked up a dish towel and began drying the bowls and spoons left in the sink from Mamm's baking. The whole house had smelled of cinnamon and sugar when she'd come in from school, setting her mouth watering as if she were a scholar herself, running into the kitchen ravenous.

Her mother stopped what she was doing to look at Leah. “I heard whispers, too, but they were about Johnny Kile and how he's back in Pleasant Valley. Did you know about this already, Leah?”

“I've known for a few days.” Her towel slowed on the mixing bowl. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you and Daadi, but Rachel asked me not to say anything until she'd had a chance to talk with her parents about it. She's worried about how they're taking it.”

Her mother nodded, but her gaze was troubled. “They are grieved, I know. But does it bother you again, knowing he's here in the valley?”

“Not as much as having half the church trying to pair me up with Daniel Glick,” she said tartly. At least she thought that was true. “Whatever feelings I had for Johnny Kile were boy-and-girl notions, over a long time ago and forgotten.”

“It's gut, that.” Her mother put the cookie container into a basket and added several jars of rhubarb sauce. “It makes no sense to be crying over the past. Let the troubles of the day be sufficient.”

“I suppose so.” Mamm had a thought from Scripture for every eventuality, though Leah had never found that one especially comforting.

Her mother tucked a cloth over the basket's contents. “There. You have time before supper to take this over to the Glick place, you do.”

The cookie sheet Leah was holding clattered onto the counter. “Mamm, what was I just saying? You're as bad as Barbara is, trying to match me up with Daniel just because he's a widower.”

“Nonsense.” Her mother bridled, but her eyes didn't meet Leah's. “I'm trying to be neighborly, that's all. I don't suppose Daniel has time to be baking cookies for those young ones of his, running the farm all on his own the way he's doing.”

“If you were just being neighborly, you could have asked Barbara to drop them off on her way home,” Leah said firmly. “She'd have loved an excuse to call, and she'd probably be talking up my virtues to Daniel along with delivering the cookies.”

“Barbara's not—”

“What? A maidal?” Bad enough that the rest of the valley thought that she and Daniel made a perfect match, without her mother getting into it.

“I'm just being neighborly,” her mother repeated stubbornly. “But
if I were trying to bring the two of you together, is that so bad?” She reached toward Leah, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. “Is it bad that I want to see my oldest daughter settled with a home and family of her own before I die?”

The words were like an arrow to Leah's heart, and her breath caught painfully. She clasped her mother's hands in hers.

“Mamm, what's wrong? Why are you talking that way? Did you get a bad report from the doctor? What did he say?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Her mother patted her cheek. “Don't fuss over me. I'm just thinking of the future.”

“Why would you be thinking that way if nothing's wrong?” She should have insisted on going with her mother to that last doctor's visit. Then she'd know for certain what they faced.

“The doctor says I'm well. That the tiredness is to be expected.” She sighed, putting her palm against her cheek as if to comfort herself. “I just never thought we'd be moving into the daadi haus so soon. I hoped and prayed that you and Anna would be married before that happened. Barbara's a gut woman, but—”

“Ja.” They both knew how that sentence would finish. Barbara was a fine woman, but neither Leah nor Anna wanted to live with her. “Mamm, are you sure that's all? You promise?” She looked intently into her mother's lined face, trying to read the truth there.

“That's all,” she said firmly. She cradled Leah's face in her hands. “You have so much love in your heart to give, daughter. I want a chance for you to give that love to a gut man and children, the Lord willing.”

Leah felt the words like a physical pain. So Mamm thought she had love to give.

After the way she'd failed Johnny, she doubted it. He'd said she was a coward, and he'd been right. She didn't have what it took to love the way Mamm did.

But it would only upset her mother if she said that.

“Well.” Her mother turned to the table, picking up the basket. “If you won't take this over to the Glicks, I guess I'll walk over myself with it.”

Leah took the basket from her. “I'll do it.” She was at least smart enough to know when she was beaten.

L
eah
tapped at the back door of the Glick farmhouse, the basket heavy on her arm. If she'd been able to tell her mother why she really didn't want to see Daniel Glick today—

But no. She couldn't do that. The thing she'd learned at the Mud Sale was private. It had to be, until she could understand.

“Teacher Leah!” Elizabeth opened the door, drying her hands on her apron. “Please komm in.”

The pleased surprise in her face gave way to a look of slight apprehension as Leah entered.

Leah knew that look. She'd encountered it enough times on the faces of her scholars when she turned up unexpectedly at their homes. Elizabeth was probably scouring her mind, trying to think of anything she might have done wrong that would have brought the teacher to see her father.

Leah hefted the basket, smiling at the child. “My mamm sent over jars of rhubarb sauce for you. And I think there are some fresh snickerdoodles in the basket, too. Do you like them?”

That was no doubt a safe question. She'd never met a child who didn't like the sweet cookies.

“Oh, ja. My grossmutter makes them sometimes for us.” Elizabeth, seeming reassured, led the way into the kitchen. “That is kind of you and your mamm.”

Leah set the basket down on the long wooden table. The Glick kitchen was very like their own, with its wooden cabinets, gas appliances, and plain wooden table. Very like an English kitchen, she supposed, except that everything ran on gas instead of electric.

She lifted out the jars of rhubarb, admiring their bright pink glow, and then took out the container of cookies. She'd carry the basket home and leave the containers here, knowing full well that with the way folks carted food around to each other, it wasn't worth trying to keep track of them.

“Maybe you and your brothers will have the snickerdoodles after supper.”

Elizabeth nodded, eyeing the container as if judging how many cookies it might hold. “Please sit down, Teacher Leah. I was just washing up the dishes.”

Her cheeks flushed a little as if she were, like any good hausfrau, embarrassed at being caught by a visitor with dishes in the sink.

“We'll finish them up together,” Leah said, folding her sleeves back. “Do you like to wash or dry?”

“Wash,” Elizabeth said, but her brows drew together. “You are a guest in our house. You shouldn't be doing the dishes.”

“I like to dry the dishes,” Leah said firmly, picking up a dish towel from the rack. “Sometimes I think the best talks I have with my sister are when we're doing the dishes together.”

Giving in, Elizabeth stepped up on the small wooden stool that stood in front of the sink. “You are wonderful lucky to have a sister. I have only brothers.” She glanced through the window over the sink, as if keeping an eye out for them.

“Brothers can be fun, too.” Leah started drying the plates that were already stacked in the drainer. “I have three of them, you know. Mine taught me how to ride a bicycle and catch a softball.”

“They're all right,” Elizabeth said a little grudgingly. “But Matthew thinks he knows everything, just because he's two years older than I am.”

“My big brother always thought that, too,” Leah said. “We know they don't.”

She watched the child's face, intent on her washing chores. Elizabeth inspected each dish carefully before relinquishing it, as if it had to be perfect. So careful about that she was, as she seemed to be about her schoolwork, her appearance, everything.

Had that trait somehow been caused by the time she'd spent in the outside world? Two years, Daniel had said. Two years was a long time
in the life of an eight-year-old. How much had Elizabeth been affected by that? How long ago had that been?

And the little one—that explained why Jonah spoke such excellent English for his age. No wonder Daniel had looked disconcerted when she'd commented on it.

So many questions burning in her mind. They weren't caused by idle curiosity. As the children's teacher, she could help them more if she knew the facts.

But she didn't imagine she'd learn much more from Daniel than she already had. He wouldn't have told her as much as he did if not for Matthew blurting out that uncomfortable truth.

The silence had stretched on too long between her and Elizabeth, and she'd be having the child worrying if she didn't say something casual.

“I enjoy having you and your brothers in my class. What do you like best in school, Elizabeth?”

“Playing with Becky,” she said promptly, and then looked up at Leah, her lips forming an O of dismay. “I mean—I like reading best.”

“I like reading, too.” Leah tried to hide a smile. “But it's all right to enjoy making friends, especially with Becky. Her mother and I were best friends when we were young. We still are, in fact.”

“Becky has a brother, too,” Elizabeth said, as if that sealed the contract between them.

“Perhaps you can go to her house after school one day,” Leah suggested. “I'm sure her mother would like that.”

“That would be nice.” Elizabeth lifted the last dish to the rack. “But I have to take care of things at home.” Her small face was set with determination.

Leah's heart twisted. Elizabeth seemed too determined to take over all the household chores. Every Amish child accepted that work was a part of life, but children needed time to play as well.

She'd speak to Rachel and make sure that Elizabeth was invited to her house one day. That would be gut for both the little girls.

There was a rattle at the back door, and Leah looked that way just as Daniel stepped into the house. His gaze met hers, and his face stilled, eyes growing wary.

That wasn't surprising, was it? She undoubtedly looked the same way, with memories of the last time they'd been together sharp in her mind.

“Teacher Leah!” Jonah squeezed around his father and ran toward her, excitement lighting his face. He was too young to think a visit from the teacher anything other than an unexpected treat.

She bent to give him a quick hug. When she looked up again, Daniel had managed to produce a polite smile that didn't reach his eyes. He had one hand on Matthew's shoulder. It looked as if without that, the boy would have run back out of the room.

“Wilkom to our home,” Daniel said formally. He and Matthew came into the kitchen, and he looked an inquiry at Elizabeth.

“Teacher Leah brought us rhubarb sauce and snickerdoodles that her mamm made,” she told him. “And we talked while we did the dishes.”

His gaze swung back to Leah, and there was accusation in it. For an instant she could barely control her anger. How could he think that she would question a child under the guise of helping her?

“We talked about how much we like to read,” she said, her voice firm. “And about her friend Becky.”

He nodded, and she thought there might be an apology in his face.

“Elizabeth is our reader,” he said, touching his daughter's hair lightly. “And Jonah likes to be read to, don't you?”

Jonah flashed that engaging grin. “I like animal stories best.”

“This year you'll learn to read some of them for yourself,” Leah told him, relieved that the conversation seemed to have moved into safe channels. “That's the best thing about first grade.”

“We'll read a story together tonight after we have some of your mamm's cookies and some rhubarb sauce,” Daniel said. “It was kind of her to think of us and kind of you to bring them over.”

That sounded like an invitation to leave. She picked up the basket. “I'd best be on my way. I'll see you in school tomorrow.”

Elizabeth looked suddenly stricken. “But I didn't serve you anything.”

“I couldn't eat anything now,” she said quickly. “My mamm will have supper ready when I get home.”

Elizabeth's lips trembled. “But we should give you something.”

She didn't know what to say. Elizabeth was so determined to be the perfect hostess that she was on the verge of tears.

“I'm sure Teacher Leah would like some of our fresh green onions to take home,” Daniel said quickly, seeming to understand his small daughter. “We'll stop at the garden to pull some.”

“That would be a treat,” Leah said. “Ours are not ready yet.”

Elizabeth's face cleared in an instant, though tears glistened on her lashes. “Be sure and tell your mamm they are from us.”

“I will,” she promised. She glanced from Elizabeth's tear-drenched eyes to Jonah's gap-toothed smile to the wary look on Matthew's face that was almost identical to his father's.

What happened to you out there in the English world?
she asked silently.
Why were you there?

•   •   •

Daniel
led the way to the garden, very aware of Leah walking beside him. She hadn't bothered to put a bonnet on to walk across the field between the farmhouses, and the late afternoon sun lit her hair, turning it the warm yellow of the earliest jonquil.

The silence between them was pulling taut. The longer he waited to speak, the harder it would be.

As it was, Leah got in first. “I did not come to your home to question Elizabeth about anything.”

He didn't pretend to misunderstand her. She had read him so easily. “I know. I'm sorry.”

They'd reached the edge of the garden, and he stopped, staring at it absently. Too early for much to be ready to pick yet, but the lettuce he'd planted had begun to unfurl the smallest of green leaves above the soil, and the green onions were just about big enough to eat.

Leah waited. He had to say something more. He owed her that, at least.

“I wanted my children to get settled here.” His voice was husky, and he had to stop and clear his throat. “What happened to us, to them—it's hard. Can't they get used to their new life before everyone knows?”

He glanced at Leah, and what he saw reassured him. Her green eyes glistened with tears.

“No one will hear about it from me,” she said.

He could breathe again.

“But I could be a better teacher to them if I understood more.”

He'd like to argue the point, but she was right. For some reason that annoyed him. It would be easier if he could tell himself that she was wrong.

“Look at it.” The words burst out of him, and he grasped her arm to turn her, praying she saw what he did when he looked at the fertile fields stretching out all the way to the woods that covered the ridges. “I could not afford a farm like this back in Lancaster County. My father's farm goes to my oldest brother, which is only right. I came here to give my children a new start.”

“I know.” Warmth infused Leah's words. “I understand that need.”

He took a breath. “My children were taken from me. They lived two years in the outside world. I got them back four months ago.”

His throat closed. He could not say more. He prayed she could accept that.

He felt a light touch on his arm and looked down into Leah's face. A tear had escaped to trickle down her cheek.

“I am sorry for your troubles. I'll do whatever I can for the children.”

The tight band that clutched his throat eased. He nodded. “Ser gut.”

It was more than good, but that was all he could manage. He put his hand over hers in a mute gesture of appreciation.

Her skin was warm against his palm. That warmth seemed to travel through him, startling him so much that his breath hitched.

His gaze met Leah's. Her eyes had gone wide with a shock that matched his.

He leaned closer, drawn—

“Daadi, did you get the onions?” Elizabeth came running toward them, and her voice was a splash of cold water in his face.

He took a step back, not looking at Leah. “I'm getting them now.” He stooped to pull up an onion, not bothering to see if it was the largest one.

He had to be grateful. His daughter had called out at just the right time to keep him from doing something too foolish to be imagined.

•   •   •

Leah
opened the stable door, stepped inside, and raised the battery lantern she carried to drive away the darkness. She gasped, and the lantern nearly fell from her hand.

“What are you doing here?”

Johnny pushed himself away from the stall he'd been leaning against. “Waiting for you.”

Behind him, Betty reached over the stall door to nudge him with her head. She leaned toward Leah, whickering softly.

Johnny nodded toward the mare. “Some things never change. I figured you'd come out to give a good-night treat to your horse.” He brushed at the shoulder of his leather jacket, where the mare had touched him. “What's her name?”

“Betty.” Carrying the lantern with her, she went to the horse, murmuring to her as she fed her the carrot she'd brought from the house. “I've had her for nearly eight years already. She can take me back and forth to the schoolhouse without my touching the lines.”

“She's in a rut,” Johnny said.

“Then so am I.” Her anger flashed like lightning in a summer sky.

He shrugged. “You said it, I didn't.”

Her head began to throb. She'd come out to the stable to escape tension, not to find it.

Johnny had one thing right. She was predictable in this habit of hers. She made a last trip to the stable every night. Tonight it had been a reasonable excuse to leave behind the endless discussions about Mamm and Daadi's move to the daadi haus.

It was happening in less than a week now. Anna should be finding a way to accept the inevitable instead of making everyone's life miserable. And speaking of making people's life a misery to them—

“Why are you here?”

It was probably best to stay angry with Johnny, if she could. When she let herself feel sorry for him or start remembering the past, then she was likely to give in and agree to do something she didn't want to do, just out of pity.