Keys of Heaven (17 page)

O
n Monday, after Sarah had done the washing and hung out their shirts, pants, and dresses to dry on the line—with the underwear hung discreetly inside on the drying rack in Simon's room—she harnessed Dulcie and set off in the buggy for the Peachey place.

Linda had been on her mind a lot since the last time she'd seen her, and after a couple of weeks of her patient drinking the tea, Sarah was anxious to know if she was seeing a change. With any luck, Benny would be at home, and she could take him into the fields and show him the kinds of herbs she needed for his aunt's health.

But mostly, she was just glad to get away by herself. That Eric, he was a strong-minded one. She'd known it going in, but it was one thing to hear about his epic journey, and another to see that same stubbornness in her own house.

Luckily, Caleb was not the kind to mimic bad behavior. He had less patience with it than she did—she supposed because he was not prepared to let Eric get away with anything he couldn't do himself.

Yesterday morning, her father-in-law had set the
Englisch
boy to simple tasks in the milking parlor, and sheer awe of his size and his beard and the way his kindly gaze still managed to pin you down had apparently made Eric decide that obedience was the only way he'd survive the experience. And to give him credit, he'd made the beds after breakfast. All of them, much to Sarah's surprise. But he'd had a hard time sitting through the Sunday reading and singing, there in their own living room, and after lunch Caleb had finally taken him off to Henry's, where he stayed until supper.

Dulcie slowed for a cross highway and Sarah carefully looked both ways before they made the left turn toward the Peachey place. Bringing up boys was no easy matter. She had been lucky that Michael was such a good father—and that his father had stepped in to fill that place when Michael had been taken from her. She was surrounded by good men.

Even Henry had not completely forgotten the upbringing of his childhood when he had stepped up to support her without her needing to say a word. Someday, she hoped, he would see that he belonged in their world still. After all, his reactions to others were Amish reactions. He took the place of authority when it was needed—such as with children—and the mantle of
Uffgeva
, or humility, when it was needed. He wasn't proud about his art, and other than the little sign at the end of his lane, which was no more and a lot less than any Amish craftsman might put there, he was very close-mouthed about it.

The Peachey place came into view and Sarah turned in. At least the garden was coming along well, given that it had to feed the family when all else failed. It needed a good weeding, though. She left Dulcie cropping grass and crossed the yard.

The door opened and Linda stepped out. “Sarah,
ischt
gut
to see you. Are you giving me a checkup?”

“I am.” She pretended to give Linda the once-over, and then looked more closely. “Your skin looks better. You're getting more sleep, aren't you?”

“
Ja
, I am. I never would have believed it. By the time I take the last cup at night, I'm ready for bed and fall right to sleep. Come into the kitchen and let me see what I can fix for us while we talk.”

She brought out a coffee cake that had a few slices left from breakfast, and poured two cups of coffee from the pot on the stove. It was bitter, but Sarah swallowed bravely and poured in some extra milk without saying a word.

“Isn't the weather beautiful?” Linda said, gazing out the kitchen window. “I'm half tempted to be like Benny, and go have a swim in the creek.”

“Is that where he is?”

“He and Leon said they were taking their youngest brother fishing, so I hope they catch something. Arlon and Crist went to Whinburg to get some crates from the pallet shop there, and Ella went with them. So I'm home all alone and it's very tempting to play hooky.”

Sarah made up her mind. “Why don't we? I'd love to take a ramble through your woods to see what I can harvest.”

The Peachey acres included a wooded stretch along a shallow bend in Willow Creek across from the Esh farm, one of the largest in the area. Through the trees, Hiram Esh's neatly planted acres stretched into the distance, reminding Sarah again of the contrast between the two families. Linda seemed as much at home in the woods as she did in the kitchen, but that could be because both places were one step removed from a wilderness.

No, that was unkind. She must stop being so critical. But, Sarah told herself, the only reason these thoughts came was because she wanted to help. Linda's condition and her inability to conceive would be improved by some peace. Some security. Her own home. But how?

The local swimming hole was below the Rose Arbor Inn, but here, upstream from the splashing and play, was where the fishermen tended to congregate. As Sarah and Linda walked the path trodden smooth by generations of people who knew the secret of the pools and logs where the trout fanned themselves, she debated how to bring up the subject.

“Look.” She bent to a clump of plants that bore white flowers. “Feverfew.”

“I thought those were daisies.”

“They belong to the daisy family, it's true. Ruth uses them for migraine headaches, so I'm going to try a tincture.” She picked a number of stems with lots of healthy leaves and flowers, and walked on. “I was hoping to see Benny. If he runs across any more mullein plants in the fields, I could sure use those, too.”

“I told him, but Benny—he has a memory like a sieve. He and Leon found pieces of an old buggy out in these woods and they've been busy fixing it up. I hardly see them.”

Sarah kept her mouth shut.
It's not my place. It's not my place.
But Linda's health was her place. “I know we've spoken before about you having a peaceful home of your own.”

Linda nodded, and stretched up to pick a stem of orange daylily from a clump growing on the bank above the path. Her slender figure looked as though it was gaining a little weight. No wonder her face looked more relaxed, between the lady's mantle tincture and the tea. “We have. And I said I didn't know how we would manage it. Or that we would want to.” She glanced at Sarah. “It's not so bad, you know, what God has given us. There is enough on the table, and when there isn't, our families are happy to help out.”

“I know, but I honestly feel that you would bloom better in a field of your own.”

“But how? Just for the sake of discussion. There are no places to rent around Willow Creek.”

“But there might be. What about Sadie Byler's place?”

Twirling the lily between her fingers, Linda walked on down the path. “But that
Englisch
potter has it now. Her nephew.”

“I know, but he doesn't farm it. His cousins and uncles do. What if Crist went in with them, and you rented the house?”

Now incredulity fought with politeness in Linda's gaze. “Would you have me turn a man out of his home?”

“No, of course not, but he's seeing a woman in town—Ginny, who has the Rose Arbor Inn. If they were to marry, it would make sense for him to move to the Inn, and then the farm would be available. And even if they don't, it's a big house, and he spends most of his time in the studio in the barn. He might be convinced to rent it to you, and just keep a room for himself. I know he appreciates a woman's good cooking.”

They crested a little rise, and below them could see the Peachey boys on the wide, sunny bank on the far side, casting lures into the water. Up- and downstream, boys who did not have the work of men to do gathered to exclaim over one another's catches, clearly delighted to have something to bring to the supper table.

The few seconds of watching the boys seemed to have given Linda a chance to organize her thoughts. “Thank you for thinking of me, Sarah, but Crist would never agree to move in with an
Englisch
man.”

“He hasn't fixed up the house with electricity. In many ways, he still lives according to his upbringing.”

“But he is not Amish. We don't even know him, and even if we did, we couldn't be in fellowship with him.” She turned to take Sarah's hands, her eyes gentle and earnest. “I appreciate your care for me, I really do. But you must turn your mind to your other patients. I—I do not want to move off Arlon and Ella's place.”

Disappointment and concern hit Sarah hard, right below her heart. “But Linda, surely you must want a home of your own. A baby—”

“I'm content, Sarah. And so must you be.” With a squeeze, she released Sarah's hands and began to climb down the bank to the creek. Sarah scrambled after her.

“What if Henry were to offer his place to you?”

“Why would he? He doesn't know us.”

“He would if I brought up the idea, and introduced you.”

“Sarah.”

“
Ja? 
”

“
Neh.
”

Sarah got a grip and reined in her galloping imagination as she reached the water. “I'm sorry. You're right. I'm interfering in a matter that should only be between husband and wife. Please forgive me.”

Linda smiled her forgiveness over her shoulder, and stepped out on a flat rock in the water, one of many that were scattered over a submerged gravel bank where the creek took the bend. This was how the boys got to the flat meadow on the other side, but it had been a long time since Sarah had crossed a creek by hopping from rock to rock.

She made the last jump into the sedge and her sneaker slipped. With an exclamation, she teetered, and Linda turned just in time to grab her hand. “Careful!”

They pulled each other up into the grassy meadow and Benny waved.

“Aendi Linda! Sarah!”

“How are they biting?” Linda called.

“
Gut
—we'll have fresh brook trout for supper.” He lifted the wriggling brown body he'd just unhooked from his line, and gaffed it with quick efficiency.

“We've come to find herbs,” Sarah said. “Have you seen any mullein—the tall, spiky plant with the yellow flowers—that grows on the side of your hill?”

“There's lots in the back pasture.” He baited the hook and the line sang as he cast it out into the water again. “That's where we found the buggy.”

“Well, next time you go back there, you might pick me some in trade for your
Aendi
's treatment.”

“Happy to.” He grinned at her, and then his bobber dipped and he whipped his full attention back to landing another fish.

“We'll leave them to it,” she said, and then spotted Caleb and Eric upstream. “I'll just go see my boy and then we'll head back. I don't think you should be out in this hot sun.”

Linda rambled back to the water's edge where the stepping-stones were, and Sarah made her way over to the younger boys. “Hallo. Any luck?”

Caleb grinned. “Eric's caught one and I've caught one.”

“If you catch two more, I can fry them for supper with sliced potato chips.”

“Really? We'll eat these?” Eric said. “These ones we caught?”

“We sure will. If God directed them to your hook, He clearly meant us to eat them.”

“Or they just swam there by mistake.”

She laughed. “Either way, we will not waste them. Do you have a ride home?”

Caleb nodded, watching the water carefully all the while. “Benny said he'd give us a lift. I think he wants to go bug Priscilla after.”

Poor Priscilla. Being energetically courted by Benny Peachey couldn't be easy on a girl—especially if he didn't seem to be able to recognize
no
when he saw it.

Sarah recognized no. She just didn't agree with it. For Linda's sake, there had to be something she could do.

H
enry had to admire the kid—he didn't give up, whether that meant trekking across the country or showing tricky bubbles who was boss.

Once he'd learned how the kick wheel operated, Eric sat hunched over it, working a lump of clay into a round saucer shape, then into a cylinder. He'd already made three, but of course they were off center, or the walls were uneven, or they wobbled back into blobs before he could get the pressure of his hands right.

But he didn't give up.

He kept pressing, and pulling, and trying, and trying again.

They'd fallen into a rhythm during the first few days. Eric was up on Amish time, unlike Henry, so he'd do the milking with Caleb and then have breakfast, either with Sarah or at the Jacob Yoder place. From what Caleb said, Eric thought that Jacob Yoder was some human incarnation of an Old Testament prophet, and hardly had the courage to speak at all in the same room in case he got zapped by lightning.

Henry would get up at seven, eat, and they'd meet in the studio for the morning's lesson. While Eric practiced—rolling coils or slabs, or using the wheel—Henry would apply himself to his natural forms, experimenting with ideas or perfecting what he'd done the day before. He always answered questions, and when Eric got himself into a knot he couldn't get out of, Henry was the one to start him over.

Frustration at one's inability was hard enough. He'd have plenty of mistakes to correct when he was on his own.

Meanwhile, the cutout lantern had been trimmed, dried, and fired. Tomorrow, when the kiln was cool, they'd pull it out and see how it looked.

The boys had gone fishing yesterday, and Henry had had a moment, wishing he'd gone with them and then enjoyed the dinner that Sarah had made out of their catch. But instead, he'd gone to Ginny's.

For the second evening in a row.

As if their thoughts had connected across town, his cell phone rang and her name appeared on the screen.

“Glutton for punishment, are you?”

“I'm'a have to talk to you about this self-esteem problem you ex-Amish have,” she said with affection. “Are you coming over tonight?”

“I don't want to wear out my welcome.”

“No chance of that. A girl can get addicted to actual conversation after all this time alone—and I'm not talking about post-divorce, either.”

“Ginny, you have people there constantly, and when they're gone, you have Priscilla and Kate. You're never alone.”

“Socializing for work is different from conversing for pleasure.”

She had a point. And so later that day, after Eric had gone back to Sarah's, he found himself wearing the river path a little deeper on his way over to the Inn. And not for the first time, reminding himself that he had a car and knew how to use it. He shouldn't be squeamish about leaving it in the parking lot, no matter how late it got when he finally went home. Ginny might want to go to Strasburg or even Lancaster, to see a movie or enjoy a dinner out. Surely, deep down, he couldn't really believe that anyone would care how long his car was parked over at her place?

Paul and Barbara didn't have much reason to come this way, and other than Sarah and the Yoders, they were the only people he really knew in this neighborhood.

Sarah would never say anything. But she would think plenty.

Is that the reason you leave your car at home? So she'll think you're home and not with Ginny?

Sarah Yoder was nothing more than a friend—despite that odd moment the other night when she had done a very Amish thing and yielded the man's place to him in dealing with Eric. It had been a very long time since he'd experienced that very feminine submission—and since he'd left the church at nineteen, he hadn't had a chance to experience it much to begin with.

It had felt strange, and a little scary, as though she were thrusting him into a role he had no preparation for—that of parent. But the strange thing was, he had stepped into it naturally and with only the briefest of hesitations, as if he'd known instinctively that taking the lead in teaching a boy was indeed his place, and not hers.

Not that he had much to offer in the parenting department. But he had Eric's respect, and by supporting Sarah and showing her his respect in turn, his example would teach the worldly boy that she was the one he would have to listen to.

Henry allowed himself a brief moment of amusement at what Eric's parents would think of all this. But since they'd flown off on their own business and abdicated responsibility to him and Sarah, they couldn't complain much, could they?

When he shared some of this with Ginny, she just shook her head. “I never got the chance to raise a family,” she said, offering him a second rack of barbecued ribs that were better than anything he'd ever had in the Denver steakhouses. “But even I can't imagine just dumping your kid on people you didn't know hardly at all because it wasn't convenient to come and get him. How does poor Eric feel?”

“To be honest, I don't think it bothers him all that much. I mean, he took off from Connecticut without a whole lot of concern for how his parents would feel when he came up missing, right?”

“I suppose,” she admitted, and took the last of the salad, heaping it on her plate.

She didn't make it with nasturtiums, but it was still a really good salad, and he was enjoying it.

“I guess that's just how they are, as strange as it seems to us,” she said at last. “How does Sarah feel about her houseguest?”

Hearing her name on Ginny's tongue gave him a jolt. “She's adjusting. You know how the Amish are about obedience. I don't expect Eric has had a lot of practice at that.”

“I'll say. Mostly he just did his own thing when they were staying here.” She paused, and then said, “But aside from that, it's classy of her to take him on.”

“She offered.”

“But he could have stayed with you.”

He smiled at the thought. “We might have killed each other at the end of the first day. I haven't had any experience with parenting—my sisters are still in the church, so I wouldn't see much of them, and my brother died a few years ago. I send cards to my nieces and nephews on their birthdays, but other than that, I haven't been around kids in years.”

Her eyes softened, then she lowered her gaze to her salad. “Do you ever want a family?”

“I've never given it any thought. After Allison—after she died—I pretty much concluded that family life wasn't going to be my thing.”

“But that was, what—ten years ago? Twelve?”

Ten years, six months, and a few days. “Something like that.”

“You could have found someone in that time.”

He would have reached out to touch her hand, but he had barbecue sauce and coarse-ground pepper all over his fingers. So he let his gaze fill with affection and touch hers.

“I think I might have.”

“And what if I haven't completely given up hope?”

“Of having a family? I hope you haven't. You'd make a fantastic mother.”

Her dusky cheeks colored, and her lashes fell again. She was enchanting. He wanted to wash his hands and take her into his arms, but by the time he got back from the sink, the moment would have passed. So he said, “You might have to cut back on the innkeeping a little. Or at least share it with an assistant manager.”

“Well, that's the advantage of this line of work.” She recovered quickly. “Babies can sleep in the kitchen as well as their rooms. Toddlers can play in the study. And kids can certainly have a whale of a time on the hill and down in the creek. This is actually a pretty good place to bring up a passel of kids.”

“You sound like you've given it some thought while you weren't giving up hope.”

“A woman does, you know, while she's waiting for the right baby-daddy to come along.”

What a crazy expression. “Is that slang? What does it mean?”

“It's what you call the father of your children if you're not married to him.”

A little frisson of alarm ran through him. “Oh, you'd want to be married to him.” He paused. “Wouldn't you?”

“I've been married, Henry. I liked it…but I like not being married, too. If children were involved, though, you're probably right. Marriage would be the right thing to do, though when the divorce was going through, I swore never again.” She dipped a piece of her roll in the salad dressing. “What was that you said a second ago? About how you might have found someone? Did you mean that or are you just flirting with me?”

He swallowed the last of his rib with difficulty. “Do I strike you as the flirting kind?”

With a smile of acknowledgment, she pushed his water glass toward him and he drank. “No. It's refreshing to talk with a man who says just what he thinks. No games, no stories, no sarcasm.”

“I meant it.” This time he did get up, and on the way to the sink to wash his hands, he took both their plates. She followed with the salad bowl and the other serving dishes, and they both began clearing up the kitchen as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “See how easily we work together? And we'd talk all night if we got the chance. It's been a long time, like I said. And kind of a miracle, really, to find a woman like you in a town this size.”

“My ex would say it was God's will.”

He believed in God, he supposed, but not the God he'd grown up with—that watchful, frightening being who cared so deeply about the widths of hat brims and the shapes of buggies and the truth of every thought that flitted through a boy's mind.

“I'm not sure God concerns himself with bringing people together, though my mother would have said the same as your ex. She always told my sisters that God had a specific man in mind for them, and the only way to know who he would be was to pray. It always seemed to me that was a risky way of going about finding your mate. What if you got it wrong? What if you misinterpreted a sign?” He took the dishcloth from her and wiped down the counter. “Just one of many things that didn't add up for me.”

“So you don't think you'll ever go back?” Her sure movements in restoring her domain to order stopped as she turned to him. “You're
Englisch
for life now?”

He dried his hands and took her into his arms. “I have many more reasons to stay than to go back,” he told her, and that was the end of the talking.