Restless Hearts (11 page)

“Joseph. Anna.” Ted nodded toward the other set of parents, whom he didn't know as well as he did Jacob's family. “I'm very sorry.”

“It is in God's hands,” Joseph said. He clasped work-hardened hands together. His wife nodded, but Ted could feel her grief.

“Are you waiting to see Miriam?”

“The midwife is with her now.” Joseph gestured slightly toward the door opposite them.

It stood ajar, and the tableau he saw made his breath catch. In the pool of light from a fixture above the bed, Fiona leaned forward, holding Miriam's hand, talking earnestly to her. Even in profile, he could see the warmth and caring that flowed from her toward the girl on the bed.

Jacob stood on the other side, head bent. Tears trickled into his beard, but he nodded, as if taking comfort from Fiona's words.

His throat tightened. Fiona had so much caring and devotion to give. This had to be tearing her up, too.

She moved, apparently catching sight of those who waited, and stood. She said something else, to the couple, and then bent to press her cheek against Miriam's before straightening and walking toward them.

She nodded to the parents, holding the door open so that they could file through. He heard Miriam give a soft cry at the sight of her mother, and the door swung shut, closing the family in, leaving him and Fiona alone in the hallway.

“Ted.” Her voice trembled on the edge of tears. She wiped her eyes with her fingers. “I can't even begin to imagine—” She looked around blindly.

His heart twisted with pity. “Here.” He grasped her arm and steered her toward a nearby door. “Let's go in the lounge.”

Fortunately the room was empty. A lamp on the pale wood end table illuminated a hard-looking couch and a straight-backed chair. A few old magazines were strewn on a coffee table. He led her to the couch.

“Relax a minute. There's nothing else you can do for her now.”

She sank down, covering her face with her hands. “There was nothing I could do at all. Terry and I were right there, but we couldn't save the pregnancy.”

Anger burned along his veins. “The accident—”

“The accident didn't cause the miscarriage.” She looked up at him and shoved her hair back with her fingers. Her eyes were red, but she seemed under control. “It would be unlikely, since the baby's so well protected at this early stage. Miriam told me she was
already having cramping. Jacob was bringing her to see me when the car hit them.”

Her lips trembled, and she pressed them tightly together.

He sat down next to her. “I wish it could have had a happier outcome for them. And for you.” That was as close as he could come to comforting her.

“I don't matter,” she said quickly. “But Miriam—well, I tried to reassure her. The obstetrician from the birthing center will check her out as well, but I don't see any reason why she shouldn't have a successful pregnancy the next time.”

“That's good news.”

She nodded, but anger flickered in her eyes. “I hope it doesn't make things any easier for the driver. He can't be held responsible for the miscarriage, but he ought to spend time inside a cell for this.”

“He'll be prosecuted, believe me.” Almost without willing it, his hand had covered hers where it lay on the couch between them. “I have enough evidence, which is fortunate because Jacob and Miriam won't testify against him.”

“Won't testify?” She turned a fiery gaze on him. “What do you mean?”

“Just that.” He understood, but it didn't make his job any easier. “It's not the Amish way. They'll forgive, and they won't turn to the law. Even if they were actively being persecuted, they would leave rather than fight back. It's a matter of religious conviction with them.”

The anger drained away from her expression, leaving her pale and tired looking. “I guess maybe I need to work a little harder on the forgiveness aspect of being a Christian. Right now I can only ask God why this happened.”

His fingers curled around hers. “I don't think He minds a few honest questions. Or even a little honest anger. At least I hope not, or I'm in trouble.”

“Is that part of why you left the Amish community?” She turned slightly toward him, and for the first time he felt as if the barriers between them had weakened.

“Among other things.” He shook his head. “I can never leave entirely. It's a part of me, even though I can't live the life.”

“You're doing a balancing act between two worlds.” She said what he had often thought, and it moved and startled him that the understanding could come from someone he thought of as an outsider.

“That's it. Sometimes I feel as if I really am one of the ‘world people.' And then I'll hear someone blaming the Amish for causing accidents by driving buggies on public roads—”

“That's ridiculous.”

“Yes.” He felt the conviction harden in him. “Driving under the influence caused tonight's accident, and justice will be done because that's the law, not because I know and care about the folks who were injured.”

“You can't stop caring.” Her hand turned so that their palms touched, their fingers entwining, and her warmth flowed through that touch.

“No, I can't.” He barely murmured the words.

Something—her closeness, the silent room, the touch of her hand—was making him loosen the grip he kept on his emotions. His gaze met hers, and he felt as if he were drowning in the cool gray depths of her eyes. “Fiona—”

It was no good. Nothing rational would come out of his mouth. Instead, all he wanted to do was follow his instinct. And instinct meant touching the curve of her smooth cheek, tilting her face toward his, covering her lips with his.

For an instant she seemed to hold back. And then she leaned into the embrace, her hand moving on his arm in a gentle caress. Tenderness flooded through him, and for a dizzying moment he thought he'd be content to stay this way for hours.

Unfortunately, reason clamored to be heard. This was a public room, and someone could walk in at any moment. He pressed his cheek against hers and then reluctantly drew back.

“I guess this isn't the right place,” he murmured.

She looked dazed for an instant. Then she shook her head, as if needing to clear it, and managed to smile coolly, as if they hadn't just kissed each other senseless.

“I guess not.” She rose, glancing around. “I must have left my bag in the ER. I'd better pick it up and head home.”

He thought of touching her shoulder, but that probably wasn't a good idea, when it would just make him want to kiss her again. “You don't have your car here,
remember? I had someone drive it back to your place. I'll drop you off.”

There was a certain amount of wariness in the look she gave him, but she nodded. Well, he could understand that, because he felt the same. He needed to do some serious thinking before he let this relationship get any deeper.

But as he followed Fiona out into the hospital corridor, he knew he couldn't kid himself about one thing. He'd begun to care about her, maybe too much, and he couldn't do a thing about that.

F
iona stood in the afternoon sunshine on her porch, trying not to grin like an idiot as the latest of a flow of new patients climbed into the waiting black buggy. Five new patients in the past few days, and four of them were Amish.

Still smiling, she turned to look at the carved wooden sign beside her door: Fiona Flanagan, Nurse-Midwife. Was it her imagination, or did it glow a bit brighter today?

“Is something wrong with the sign?”

Ted's voice broke into her mood, but instead of shattering it, it just made her more optimistic. Cautious, but optimistic.

“Not at all. I was admiring it.”

She turned to find him in that familiar posture, one foot planted on the step, his hand braced against the porch railing. He was in uniform, the light-gray shirt fitting snugly across his broad shoulders. The slant of sunlight brought out gold flecks in his brown hair. He
looked good—good enough that she had to suppress the urge to put her arms around him.

She hadn't seen him for several days—not since that kiss at the hospital, in fact.

His gaze was focused on the sign, not on her. Did that imply that the memory made him uneasy or that he wanted to forget what had happened between them?

“It's not a bad piece of work, though I sound prideful when I say it.”

“I take it ‘prideful' is a no-no in the Amish world.”

“You take it correctly.” He smiled suddenly, the movement rearranging the hard planes of his face into something more approachable. “Although if polishing a buggy until it shines or stitching the most perfect quilt doesn't involve a tiny bit of pride, I'll eat my hat.”

The smile nearly undid her, setting up ripples of warmth that had nothing to do with the sunshine. “I guess saying the words out loud is the problem.” She flicked a bit of dust from the carved letters. “Actually, I was thinking that maybe the sign isn't so much a hope as a reality, the way things are going.”

“New clients?” He leaned against the railing, apparently in no hurry to move on.

She couldn't suppress the grin. “Five of them, and four are Amish.” She spread her hands wide. “I don't understand it. Really, I don't. And it's not just the new clients. In the past couple of days, people have suddenly started greeting me on the street as if I've been here for years. It's great, but a little unnerving.”

She was looking to Ted for answers, she realized. Somehow she'd started depending on him for an interpretation of all the things she didn't understand in this new life of hers. Usually that realization would be a signal to run in the opposite direction, but she didn't feel like running.

His eyebrows lifted. “You honestly don't get it? It's because of Miriam.”

“Miriam? But why? I didn't even succeed in saving her pregnancy.”

Sorrow touched her, and the knowledge that no one could have done better didn't remove the sadness, although maybe it made it a little easier to bear.

He studied her face. “You've been out to the farm, I hear. How is she doing?”

“Physically, she's recovering nicely. Emotionally—” She could hear the frustration in her own voice. “I've tried to counsel her as I would any patient who's suffered a miscarriage.”

“Is that a problem?”

She shrugged. “She's been reluctant to talk. I think her feelings are at war with accepting God's will. If she doesn't want to talk to me, that's fine, but she should talk to someone.”

“Her sister's going to stay with her for a while. Maybe that will help.” He smiled. “I know that was your suggestion. You aren't angry that Aaron told me that, are you? I mean with patient-doctor privilege and all…”

“I guess not.” An answering smile tugged at her lips. “How do you know everything that happens?”

“Gossip,” he said. “It's invaluable to a cop. I just wish it would turn up those vandals for me. So you shouldn't wonder about your five new patients. Everyone knows how kind you were.”

“I only did what any midwife would do.”

“Maybe so, but it was you. You were there for her. You went out of your way to stay with her and comfort her. People admire that.”

Some emotion crossed his stolid face, but it was gone again so quickly that she wasn't sure what it was. Do you admire that, Ted?

“Even so—” she began, but he stopped the words by touching her hand. For a moment she couldn't think clearly enough to say anything.

“Let people appreciate you.” The normally low timbre of his voice went even deeper. “Don't turn away from that, Fiona.”

Was he talking about the inhabitants of Crossroads? Or about himself? If she had the courage to ask him that, what would he say?

“Ted Rittenhouse, are you just going to stand there like a moonstruck calf or are you going to hitch my horse?” a female voice complained behind them.

Fiona spun around, heat rushing to her cheeks. Her cousin Rachel leaned forward on the buggy seat, reins in her hands, blue eyes sparkling. Neither of them had even heard the buggy approach.

Rachel looked from Fiona to Ted with a satisfied smile, as if she enjoyed knowing she'd startled them.

Ted straightened, unhurried. “Since you ask so nicely, Miss Rachel, I'd be happy to give you a hand.” He wrapped the line Rachel tossed him around the porch railing. The horse dropped its head and began munching the narrow strip of grass next to the steps.

“Rachel, it's nice to see you.” And unexpected. She hadn't seen anything of her young cousin in days. “Can you come in?”

“I can stay only for a minute. I am on an errand.” Rachel hopped down lightly from the high seat, ignoring the hand Ted held out to her. She came up the steps to Fiona, excitement dancing in her pert face.

Ted patted the mare's neck. “Just how fast were you coming down the road, young lady? Bessie's all sweated up.”

Rachel made a face at him. “Not nearly so fast as the cars do.”

For an instant Fiona saw the mangled buggy again, and heard Miriam's sobs. A shiver she couldn't control went through her. “You should be careful out on the road.”

“I can be nothing but careful, with pokey old Bessie between the shafts.” She caught Fiona's hand. “You will never guess why I have come.”

“If she won't guess, Rachel, you'd best come right out and tell her,” Ted said. “It's not polite to tease.”

Rachel's fingers tightened on hers. “Our grandfather has asked me to come to see you. You are invited to
supper on Saturday evening. The whole family will be there. You'll come, won't you?”

She couldn't respond. An invitation to supper with her mother's family was the last thing she'd expected after weeks of being ignored.

“You will come, won't you?” Rachel repeated, worry darkening her blue eyes. “I said for sure you would come if we asked you. Please, Cousin Fiona.”

How could she resist Rachel's enthusiasm? “Of course I'll come. I appreciate the invitation.”

And even if she never saw them again after this one night, at least she'd have had a glimpse of what her mother had come from. Maybe that would ease the restlessness within her.

Rachel let out her breath in a whoosh of relief. “That is good. And Ted is invited, too, so there will be someone else you know.” She gave Ted a teasing glance. “You won't mind that, will you?”

 

Fiona paced across the waiting room Saturday evening, glancing out the bow windows for a glimpse of Ted. Were the dark skirt and blazer she wore suitable for supper with her mother's conservative Amish kin? She hadn't any idea.

Up to this point, when she'd gone into an Amish home, it had been in her professional capacity, and she hadn't thought much of what she wore. This evening was different.

She could have asked Ted's advice about what to
wear, but she'd been too embarrassed after that episode with Rachel—especially the girl's obvious enjoyment at teasing her and Ted about their friendship. Friendship, not relationship—she wouldn't admit to anything serious. Not yet.

Did the entire township recognize the attraction they held for each other? If so, she could just imagine the talk. She folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself.

The familiar response welled up in her. Walk away. Pretend it didn't happen. Pretend you don't care. That way no one can hurt you.

But the old way of reacting wasn't working for her any longer. She actually felt like taking a risk—on Ted, on her mother's family—even knowing she could get hurt. Maybe God had led her to a situation where she had to change and where the reward for change might be greater than she'd ever dared to hope.

She glanced at her watch. Ted had said he'd pick her up, but no cars were in sight, only one Amish buggy coming down the road. It pulled to a stop in front of her steps. Ted held the reins.

This was the last thing she'd expected, and it took a moment to recognize the feeling in the pit of her stomach as apprehension. Grabbing her handbag, she went quickly out the door and down the steps.

Ted jumped down as she approached. Wearing dark pants and a light-blue shirt, he looked as if he'd dressed to blend in, if not to match. She straightened her jacket.

Was she only imagining it, or did his blue eyes soften when he looked at her?

“I hope you don't mind.” He gestured toward the buggy. “I borrowed this from my brother. I thought you might enjoy seeing how your relatives travel.”

She tried to block out the image of the overturned buggy. “That's nice of you.”

“Sorry.” He apparently understood what she didn't say. “That was stupid of me. After the accident—well, it will just take a few minutes to go back and get the car.”

He started to turn, and she stopped him with a quick touch on the arm. At least, she intended it to be quick, but somehow her hand lingered at the sensation of warmth and strength under the smooth cotton of the shirtsleeve.

“Don't. It's all right.” She pulled her hand away, confused by the rush of feelings. “You're right. I would like to experience riding in a buggy.” She glanced up at the step. “Rachel hops up and down so handily that I didn't realize it was that high. In this skirt—”

“Not to worry.” He grasped her waist, the movement taking her breath away. “I'll help you.” He lifted her easily.

She grasped the edge of the seat and pulled herself into place, hoping he couldn't see the flush she was sure colored her cheeks. “Thank you.”

He paused for a moment, hand braced against the buggy, looking up at her. “Are you sure this is okay?”

“Positive.” She managed a smile. “I want to understand how my mother lived. I think it will help me make sense of who I am.”

He nodded, then walked quickly around the back of the vehicle and swung himself up easily. He picked up the reins with a sureness that reminded her that this had been part of his life, too, for a long time.

Could he ever leave that fully behind? Not living here, certainly. She'd think, having made the decision, that he'd want to be as far as possible from reminders of what he'd given up. Or had he come back out of lingering feelings for Emma? He hadn't given her any sense of that when she'd seen them together.

He clucked to the horse, and they moved off. The swaying of the high seat sent her off balance. She grasped the seat with one hand and pulled her skirt down with the other.

“Don't worry,” Ted said. “You're dressed fine.”

“Really?” She was ashamed of her need for reassurance. “I don't want to offend anyone.”

“You won't. They're used to being around the English.”

The English. The outsider. Well, she knew that role. She could cope. But what was Ted thinking about this invitation?

She glanced at him. The setting sun brought out glints of gold in his hair, gilding his tanned skin. The ease with which his body moved to accommodate the shifts of the buggy, the strength of his hands, holding the reins—she felt her attraction for him growing with each—well, maybe she'd better get the conversation moving.

“Are you okay with this? I mean, you've tried so
hard to protect my grandparents from being hurt by my presence.”

He shrugged, frowning at the horse's back. “Maybe I was wrong to interfere. In any event, they've taken it out of my hands now.”

It wasn't exactly a rousing vote of confidence, but it would have to do. “Have you heard anything about why they've changed their attitude?”

“I've always heard something, you know that.” He smiled. “Apparently Emma and Rachel have been encouraging your grandmother to see you.”

A frisson of apprehension slid down her spine. “I don't want to cause problems for her. What if seeing me brings back all her grief for her daughter?”

Ted grasped her hand firmly. “Don't overanalyze it, Fiona. She's asked for you. I don't see how you can do anything else but go.”