At Home in Pleasant Valley (10 page)

Naomi's gaze slid away from hers. “No reason. I just thought—folks were saying—maybe you'd be doing somethin' else in the fall.”

For a moment her mind spun. And then it settled on the right answer. Daniel. Folks were saying she would wed Daniel.

She managed to smile. Managed to force her tone to be light. “I see the matchmakers are busy as always. I hate to disappoint them, but I have no plans to do anything but continue to teach.”

Naomi's gaze met hers, and for a moment it seemed the young mother could see into her heart. “Sometimes it surprises us what God has for us.”

A thin wail sounded from the second-floor window of the house. “It sounds as if young Jacob is awake.” Leah was relieved at the interruption.

Naomi moved, starting to put Eli down, but Leah stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Let me get him, please? I haven't seen him in weeks, it seems.”

Naomi hesitated a moment, and then she nodded. “His clothes are hanging on the rack by the crib.”

“I'll take care of him.” She hurried toward the house. Escaping again? She'd hate to think that.

The wail grew louder as she mounted the enclosed staircase. Little Jacob was growing impatient. “I'm coming, Jacob.”

The bedroom at the top of the stairs was typical of a small child's room in most Amish houses, with one dramatic exception. Over Jacob's crib hung a metal rack filled with blue lights, sending an eerie blue glow through the room. Run by a generator, the lights were the only thing that kept Jacob and his sister, who was two years older, alive.

Crossing to the crib, she switched off the lights and lifted them out of the way. Jacob, clad only in his diaper, reached chubby arms to her, and she picked him up, holding him close.

Jacob looked like any other fourteen-month-old, except for the golden color of his skin and the yellow whites of his eyes, caused by the jaundice that built up in his little body. Without spending twelve hours a day under the lights, Jacob would die.

Bouncing him a little, she carried him to the changing pad on top of the wooden dresser. “There we go, little man. We'll get you all dressed and take you down to your mammi.”

Jacob stared at her intently for a moment and then gave her a grin. She tickled him, and he chortled, clapping his hands.

Her heart turned over, and she knew that she had one answer, at least, to the difficulties that surrounded her. She might not know what to do about Daniel and his children, or about Anna, but if it meant helping Jacob and those like him, she would ask Bishop Mose for permission to volunteer at the clinic.

•   •   •

“I'm
wonderful glad to have a chance to talk to you.” Rachel sat down beside Leah in the back row of schoolroom desks. “We've been too busy to visit lately, we have.”

At the front of the room, the teacher's helper who came in to assist Leah several days a week was beginning to rehearse the scholars for their end-of-year program.

“Of course,” she murmured, her mind only partially on Rachel. “I can't believe school will be out so soon. The years go faster all the time.”

“That's because we're older all the time,” Rachel said. She nodded toward Leah's seventeen-year-old helper. “How is Mary Yoder shaping up? Will you make a teacher of her?”

“I will if she keeps at it and doesn't let herself stray off after a job in town, as so many girls want to do.”

Rachel's gaze sought out her own Becky, whispering with the other eight- and nine-year-olds as they practiced their parts. “That's a worry, for sure.”

Already Rachel feared the world would lure her child away.
Be ye separate. In the world, not of the world.

Those were the teachings they lived by, ingrained from birth, but still, the world called too loudly for some.

Like Rachel's twin. Leah glanced at her friend's face. Was she remembering Johnny?

“I hear that you are going to volunteer at the clinic where Johnny is.” Rachel said the words softly, her face averted.

Leah hesitated, not sure of Rachel's reaction. When they were girls,
they'd told each other everything, but now— Well, life was like that, wasn't it? They couldn't stay girls forever, and they wouldn't want to.

“I am. Once school is out, I'll start calling on folks, getting information about those who have the inherited illnesses.”

Rachel looked at her then, her gaze troubled. “Are you sure that's wise?”

How could I be sure?
No, she wouldn't say that. It would be giving in to her own doubts and fears.

“I've talked with Bishop Mose about it. He's approved.” She stopped, not willing to repeat to Rachel the gist of Bishop Mose's concerns about her being near Johnny again.

“Have you seen him? Johnny, I mean?” Rachel lowered her voice, though none of the children could hear their conversation.

“Ja.” She hesitated. “Are you upset with me for doing this?”

“No, no.” Rachel put her hand over Leah's. “Not upset. Just worried.”

“Don't be,” she said, her tone firm. “There's nothing between John and me now, and that's as it should be.”

“That's gut, much as I hate to say it.” She paused, and her eyes grew wistful. “How is he?”

Leah's heart twisted. “He seems successful. Driven to succeed in his work, I'd say.”

“But something about him worries you,” Rachel said. “Don't deny it. I know you too well.”

Leah spread her hands, palms up. “I'm not sure. The others seem to respect him, but he still is nervous, as if he's not quite sure of himself among them.”

“Because he was Amish?”

“I don't know.” She struggled with feelings she didn't fully understand. “Sometimes I catch flashes of the old Johnny, and I understand him. But then he becomes someone so different.”

Rachel nodded. “If I could see for myself—”

“You could, if you wanted.” Leah's hand closed over hers.

Rachel shook her head. “Not now. Maybe later.” She focused on Leah's face, her blue eyes piercing. “Just tell me one thing for sure. Are you going to help there because of Johnny?”

In that, at least, she knew her own heart. “No. I'm going because of the children. Little Jacob and Naomi Grace Miller, and all the rest. And those yet to be born.”

Her heart clutched. Mahlon was marrying into the Miller family. She wouldn't want him to give up his Esther, but she feared for the children they would have.

“Gut.” Rachel patted her hand. “That's gut.”

Mary came halfway down the aisle toward them and stopped, obviously not wanting to interrupt. Leah smiled at her.

“What is it, Mary?”

“The middle-grade scholars are ready to practice for us.”

“Ser gut. We'll come a little closer.” She rose and moved toward the front of the classroom, Rachel following her.

This end-of-year program was one she'd written her first year of teaching—so long ago she hoped no one would remember it. Although if any of her scholars from that year came to the program, which they probably would, they might still be able to recite the poetry by heart.

She settled herself to listen attentively, smiling and nodding encouragingly at each child as he or she spoke. Mary, who was prompting as needed, looked a bit worried. She'd have to assure her that mistakes were normal at this stage. Experience had taught Leah that just when you thought the program would be a complete disaster, it all came together.

Elizabeth stepped forward, her hands linked on her apron, her gaze on the ceiling, as if she looked for inspiration there. “I am but a little scholar,” she began. “Still I've learned to—” She stopped, her hands tightening as she sought for the elusive words.

“—listen well,” Mary whispered loudly.

Elizabeth didn't seem to hear. Her eyes grew panic-stricken.

“It's all right,” Leah began.

But it was too late. Elizabeth burst into tears and ran from the room.

M
atthew!”
Daniel, on his knees in the vegetable garden, pushed himself to his feet, scanning the area between garden and barn for his son. “Matthew, wo bist du? Where are you?”

No answer. He glanced at the tomato plants, ready to be put into the ground now that the threat of frost was past. He'd hoped he and Matthew could get the job done quickly once the children got home from school.

He could have done it himself, but he'd wanted to share it with his son. He longed to have the pleasure of working beside him, planting something that would help to feed the family.

But Matthew, while never openly rebellious, had found many ways of avoiding chores lately. He'd been sent to the barn on a simple enough errand to bring back an extra trowel. He'd had time enough to do that a dozen times by now.

Daniel looked again at the two dozen tomato plants he'd decided would be enough for them. They'd begin to wilt in another few minutes. Blowing out an irritated breath, he headed for the barn.

Matthew seemed to get more distracted every day. Before Ruth left, Daniel had thought that he and Matthew were as close as a father and son could possibly be. He'd never expected that could change.

Now, he wasn't so sure. He didn't know his oldest son any longer, and that cut him to the heart.

The barn door stood open a few feet, where Matthew had gone in. Daniel gave it an impatient shove and stepped inside.

At the sound, Matthew popped up from the hay mow, eyes round with surprise. He made a quick movement with his hand, as if shoving something out of sight.

Daniel crossed to him, his jaw tightening.

“I'm sorry, Daadi. I—I guess I forgot to bring the trowel.” He scrambled out of the hay mow. “I'll get it right now.”

Daniel brushed past him, heading for the spot where the boy had been sitting.

“Daadi, let's go plant the tomatoes.” Matthew's voice held an edge of nerves, a sure sign that he was trying to hide something.

Leaning on the low wall of the hay mow, Daniel bent over, probing into the hay with his hand. In an instant his fingers met something hard and rectangular.

He pulled it out and stood staring, hardly believing his eyes. It was some sort of game, with blinking lights and figures moving on a tiny screen.

He swung around, holding it up in front of his son. “What is this thing?”

Matthew stared back, sullen and defiant. “It's called an electronic game.”

“Where did you get it?” His head started to throb. He had no desire to interrogate his son, but the boy wasn't being open with him.

Matthew didn't answer. He just stared, and Daniel couldn't tell what was going on behind that blank expression.

“Matthew?”

Matthew's jaw clenched, too. Daniel felt as if he looked into a mirror. Then Matthew's gaze slid away. He focused on the wide planks of the barn floor.

“It's mine.” He muttered the words.

“Yours? How can it be yours?” How could an Amish child come by something like this?

“Mammi gave it to me.” The words burst out of him. “It's mine.”

Daniel froze. He tried to swallow, but his throat seemed paralyzed.

Help me. Show me what to say. If I say the wrong thing, I could drive a wedge between us we might never get rid of.

He took a long, slow breath. “I thought I had seen everything you brought from your mamm's house. I have not seen this.”

Matthew's face seemed to ease a fraction at his father's calm tone. “I hid it.”

“Why did you do that?” He'd tried hard to be gentle and understanding in the aftermath of Ruth's death. Had he failed so badly?

“It is English, so I knew you wouldn't want me to have it.”

He didn't. That was his first instinctive reaction. And then he realized that he was asking himself what Leah would advise. Leah, with her quick intelligence and her knowledge of children, would know what to do.

But Leah wasn't here. And his children were not her concern.

“Matthew—”

“Mamm would let me have it,” Matthew blurted out. “She would.”

For just an instant he saw Ruth's face, lit with love when she looked at their son for the first time. His heart twisted. If only they could wipe out all the pain since that moment.

But there was no going back. He could only move ahead, trying to do what God willed.

He looked at the game—so small it nestled in the palm of his hand. Its light blinked at him.

He took a deep breath, praying he was making the right choice, and held it out to his son.

“I can keep it?” Matthew stared at him, disbelief in his eyes.

“You can keep it because your mammi gave it to you. But I don't want Elizabeth or Jonah to see it. Do you understand?”

“Ja. They won't. I'll keep it where they won't see it.”

“And it's not to interfere with chores.”

“It won't, Daadi. I promise.” Matthew scampered to the hay loft and quickly rehid his device. “I'll get the trowel right away.”

Matthew would come with him and plant tomatoes. But would he be thinking of planting and growing? Or would his mind be on that remnant of his English world?

•   •   •

“Don't
walk in the living room,” Barbara said the minute Leah came in the back door from school. “The floor is still wet.” She stood at the kitchen sink, wringing out a cloth, her sleeves pushed back.

Leah nodded. The quilt frolic Barbara was hosting would be
tomorrow, which meant that the house must be spotless. Leah pushed aside her plan to go over the materials from the clinic this afternoon.

“Mamm will enjoy the quilting, for sure.” She hung her bonnet on the peg in the back hall. Her mother's quilts were works of art, with love in every stitch. “What are you working on tomorrow?”

“That tumbling blocks quilt. It'll go to one of the wedding couples in November.” Her eyes twinkled. “Maybe Esther and Mahlon, if they get around to announcing in time.”

Leah smiled back at her sister-in-law. “I think they will, if Mahlon has anything to say about it.”

“Before you know it, it will be time to start a baby quilt,” Barbara said. She hung the cleaning rags on the wooden rack to dry.

“I guess so.” She thought again of Naomi's children under their blue lights. Would Esther and Mahlon have healthy babies? “I'll put my school things upstairs and come down to help you.”

Barbara nodded. “Ser gut. Oh, and if you have any nice tea towels in your dower chest, maybe we could use them tomorrow. I tried to look, but the chest is locked, it is.”

Leah's hands tightened on the case that held her school materials, and she forced the grip to ease before she spoke. Barbara had been in her room, trying to open her dower chest.

Rachel's words about living in another woman's house surfaced in her mind. Rachel had been right, but how many choices did she have?

“Leah?” Barbara questioned.

“I'm not sure what I have. Is there something wrong with yours?”

“Ach, they're worn through with using. Would be nice to have something pretty out when the sisters are here tomorrow.”

Given the number of times Leah had told her family that she didn't intend to wed, Barbara's request was only natural. She didn't like it, but surely a few dish towels weren't worth starting a family argument over.

“I'll look and see what I have,” she said, and made her escape to her room.

Once upstairs, with the bedroom door closed behind her, she massaged her temples. Barbara meant well, she reminded herself. And this was her house now.

Still, some rebellious part of her wanted to lock the door, something she'd never done before in her life.

She put her school materials on the table under the window and turned to look at the dower chest that stood against the wall opposite her bed. Daadi had made it for her sixteenth birthday, and even though she'd known that would be her gift, she'd been overwhelmed by it.

She bent, stroking the warm grain of the wood. Daad had saved the pieces from the walnut tree near the spring after it came down in a storm. She and her brothers had played under that tree from her earliest memories, and touching it was like touching a piece of her life.

The key was in the top drawer of her dresser. She took it out, sat down on the rag rug, unlocked the chest, and lifted the lid.

She had put a clean sheet over the contents to protect them. Touching the fabric, she remembered the day she'd done that. It had been nearly a month after Johnny left the valley.

To her shame, it had taken her that long to face that he wasn't coming back. The life they'd planned together would never be. She had to stop looking for him to return, put on a calm face, and never let anyone know how much it hurt.

She grasped the sheet and pulled it off in one quick movement. All this time, and still she didn't want to face it.

There was a light knock at the door, and then it opened a few inches. She stiffened. If it was Barbara, come to press her about the dish towels, she might not be able to hang on to her temper.

“Leah? May I come in?” It was her mother.

“Of course.” She started to get up, but her mother had already entered, waving her back to her place.

“Sit, sit.” Mamm sank into the rocking chair. “Go on with what you were doing.”

Leah's fingers clenched on the edge of the chest. “Barbara wanted to borrow some tea towels for tomorrow. I was just going to look for them.”

“I know.” Mamm's voice was soft. “You don't have to do that. I'll settle it with Barbara.”

She shook her head. “No, it means nothing. It's time I sorted these things out.” She lifted out the quilt that lay on top.

Mamma reached out to touch it. “That is the log cabin quilt that you and your grossmutter made together.”

“She did most of it.” Leah unfolded it, and the colorful geometric pattern spread between her and her mother. “I'll never be the quilter she was. Or that you are as well. Look at those tiny stitches.”

“She loved making it with you, for sure. It's something to treasure.”

Leah stared at the quilt. Once, she'd expected that it would cover her marriage bed. Now . . . Well, how foolish was it to keep it hidden away instead of using it?

“I should have it out, where I can see it every day and remember her.”

“Ja, that would be gut.” Mamm's tone was careful.

Leah managed a smile. “I'm all right about it, Mamm. Really I am. I should have gotten these things out and made use of them a long time ago.”

“They were put away for your wedding. They come with memories.”

They were tangible reminders of the life she'd expected to have with Johnny. She'd been so happy with each thing she'd added, thinking about how she would use it in their new home. She lifted out a stack of tea towels.

“Life doesn't always happen the way we think it will. It's foolish to live in the past.”

Mamm's face was troubled. “Does it still grieve you, thinking about Johnny? His coming back to the valley makes it harder, ain't so?”

Did it? She wasn't sure how to find an honest answer to that question. She looked into her mother's worn face, trying to find the right words.

“It's made me think about those times, for sure. I'm sorry for the way it ended.”

“Do you still love him?”

Did she? “I love the boy he was. I can't stop doing that. But the man he is now—I don't even know him. So how could I love him?”

Mamm leaned forward to touch her cheek lightly. “The heart has reasons of its own. I just don't want you to be hurting any more because of him already.”

“I know, Mamm.” She covered her mother's hand with hers, taking comfort from the gentle touch. “I'm not.”

“And I don't want you to give up thoughts of marriage because of what happened with him.” Mamm sounded as stern as she ever could. “That wasn't your doing, it was his.”

Leah pushed down the doubts that assailed her at that. “I know you want me to be happy, Mammi. But I don't think marriage is for me. I am happy with my teaching.”

“You spill out so much love on other people's children. Don't you want to have your own to love?”

There was an odd little pain in her heart at that. “I'm contented,” she said firmly, remembering Lydia saying those words. “As much as most, married or single, I think.” She scrambled to her feet. “Now, let's get these dish towels down to Barbara before she comes up looking for them.”

•   •   •

Six
thirty in the morning that Saturday, and already the buggies were pulling in at the Stoltzfus farm. Leah watched the line of buggies ahead of her in the lane, letting Betty take her time. Aaron Stoltzfus's barn had been destroyed by fire in a spring thunderstorm, and this was the day appointed for the barn raising.

In a few moments she was pulling into a grassy area, one of a veritable fleet of buggies parked in a neat row. No sooner had she stopped than several boys ran up to tend to the horses—their first job of the day. She greeted them before turning to her mother.

“Here we are, Mamm.” She considered asking her mother not to overdo, but that would be futile. And really, Mamm looked bright-eyed and excited about the prospect of spending the whole day with the church family, doing a gut work.

Mamm was already sliding from the buggy, not waiting for help. “Hand me one of the baskets down, and I'll take it.”

Obediently, Leah lifted the smallest of the baskets and gave it to her. “I'll bring the rest,” she said firmly. “One of the boys will help me.”

Mamm trotted off toward the kitchen, and Leah unloaded the rest of the food and joined the chattering crowd of women and children moving along the lane. Daad, Levi, and Mahlon had come even earlier
than they had, eager to get a start on the day's work. Barbara would be along later, in their family buggy, wanting to let the little ones have their sleep.