At Home in Pleasant Valley (19 page)

At least Mamm didn't know about any of it, so there was nothing to worry her. Daadi had decided that the situation with Anna was best handled by him. And she certainly hadn't confided her thoughts about Daniel to anyone.

“Anna has been very quiet today.”

That jerked Leah's gaze back to her mother. Was there a concern hidden in that comment? Or was it her own sense of guilt at keeping something from Mamm that made her feel so?

“Is she?” She wrapped the next hoagie. “She's been busy, I guess.” She managed a smile. “And she's not at her best in the morning, is she?”

Mamm shook her head, smiling a little. “Remember how hard it was to get her out of bed when she was little? That must be it.”

“I'm sure it is.”
I wish it was.

Mamm sighed a little. “I'd like it fine if she'd just settle down to one sweetheart.” She lowered her voice under the chatter of women around them. “Do you think she likes Jonas Stoltzfus?”

“I'm afraid she finds Jonas a little—well, too settled and serious for her.” Actually, Anna had said that Jonas was as dull as dishwater, which didn't say much for Mamm's matchmaking hopes.

“Settled and serious are good things in a husband. Anna's trouble is that she doesn't think about what her life will be like a few years down the road, when she has a home and children to care for.”

“Maybe in a year or two she'll start looking at it that way.”

“Maybe so, but it's time already for her to think of something besides running with her friends.” Mamm used a table knife to stuff the sandwich filling into the roll a little more emphatically than was necessary. “A girl her age should be thinking of marriage.”

It looked as if Mamm had been worrying about Anna despite all their efforts to shield her. “She might be waiting to fall in love first.”

Anna's words echoed in Leah's mind. Anna already thought she might be in love with that English boy.

“Falling in love is wonderful gut, but it's not everything.” Mamm's expression grew reminiscent. “Your father and I didn't really understand what love was until we'd been married a few years and gone through some trials together.”

“You and Daadi are special. Anna—well, Anna doesn't think of marriage that way.”

“And what about you, Leah?” Her mother's gaze probed, seeming to peel away the layers of her protection. “A gut marriage can be made without starting out as boy-and-girl sweethearts.”

She could feel her cheeks growing warm. How much did Mamm know, or guess, about Daniel and her? “I . . . I don't . . .”

“It's all right.” Mamm pressed her hand. “I don't mean to embarrass you, daughter. But think about it. Listen for God's guidance.”

“I will.” That she could promise, and it seemed to content her mother. She turned back to the sandwiches with a satisfied look.

How could her mother know what had nearly happened between her and Daniel that night? She couldn't, that was all. But Mamm seemed to have an extra sense where her daughters were concerned.

It was fairly obvious what her mother thought she should do. She herself wasn't so sure.

She'd gone over and over every word, every gesture. Sometimes she'd almost convince herself that she was imagining things, but then she'd remember the warmth of Daniel's gaze, the strength of his hands, and she'd be convinced again that she'd been right.

Daniel Glick would propose to her if she gave him the slightest encouragement. And she didn't have the faintest idea what she should do.

She'd decided, after Johnny left, that marriage wasn't for her, and she'd been content with that decision all these years. She hadn't been able to love Johnny enough to have the courage to leave or the strength to convince him to stay. How could she think she could love Daniel enough to be a mother to his children and a wife to him?

“Here is Daniel, come for his order,” Mamm said. “You fix it for him, Leah. I'm ready for some coffee.” She flitted away.

Mamm wasn't exactly being subtle. Leah could only hope Daniel would attribute her flushed cheeks to the warmth of the kitchen.

Daniel stepped aside to let the Klopp boys hurry past him with the boxes of orders for the men who worked at Bishop Mose's harness shop. Nodding and smiling to those he passed, he came straight to her table.

“Rachel said you'd fill my order.” His smile grew warmer when he looked at her.

“Ja, I have it here.” She pulled his slip from the pile and began to stack hoagies in a paper bag, trying to find something light to say to him. “You're surely not going to eat all these yourself.”

He shook his head, leaning against the table so that he was close to her. “Some of the brothers have come to help with the first cutting of hay today. Mamm wanted to cook for them, but she has enough to do with the children. And they'll enjoy the sandwiches fine.”

Since he didn't have a wife to make the lunch. Was that a reminder of his need? He was watching her with such warmth in the deep blue of his eyes that she lost count of how many sandwiches she'd put in the bag and had to start again.

“They'll like these,” she said, rallying. “And the money goes to a good cause.”

He nodded. “It's a joy to help.”

“Ja.” It was, wasn't it? That was woven deeply into their way of life, the joy and satisfaction that came from helping your brothers and sisters whenever they had need. And knowing that, in turn, if you needed, they would be there.

It was part of what she loved about being Amish, part of what made them belong to each other.

Maybe, if she were Daniel's wife, she'd lose this disturbing sense she had of never quite fitting. But was it fair to him to marry for a selfish reason?

She glanced at Daniel, and their gazes met. Tangled.

She took a strangled breath. The attraction was there, certain sure, even in the midst of a crowd. That was important to a marriage.

But love?

Daniel had given her the impression, through everything he said about his wife, that if he offered his hand, that didn't mean he was offering his heart.

Still, maybe that was for the best. Maybe, as Mamm had hinted, it was possible to build a good marriage anyway.

L
eah
had gone to her room after supper, saying she had to work on her reports. That was true, but a stronger reason was to get away from the tension she seemed to feel everywhere she went lately.

The door opened before she had so much as looked at the first page. Anna stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.

The wave of gladness that swept through Leah was startling in its strength. Anna was ready to talk at last, and for a moment she dared hope that the old, easy relationship between them could be restored.

Anna took an impetuous step toward her. “How can you possibly be friendly with that man?”

It looked as if her hope had been a little premature. She tried to swallow her disappointment. “Come, sit down. If you're talking about John Kile, I've told you already—”

“Not John.” Anna dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Daniel Glick. I saw how you two were talking this morning.”

“Daniel.” She readjusted her thinking. “Why would you care if I'm friends with Daniel? I should think you'd be happy about it. Everyone else is busy trying to match us up.”

“He fits right in with all the rest of the interfering busybodies.” Anna's hands clenched against her skirt.

“If you're embarrassed because Daniel saw you . . .” She hesitated, not wanting to say the word. “. . . saw you the other night, you shouldn't blame him.”

“I'm not embarrassed.” But Anna's cheeks flushed slightly.

Leah longed to grasp the clenching hands in hers, wanted to smooth away the hurt and shame that her little sister surely was feeling. But
Anna wouldn't accept comfort from her now, and maybe she needed plain talking more than she needed comfort.

“I would say you owe Daniel your thanks. He found you, he helped you, and more than that, he kept silent about it.”

“And now he can look down on me. I hate that he's involved.”

When she was six, Anna would have sat in the corner for talking that way. Leah felt her exasperation rising. It was a pity that wouldn't work now.

“You were the one who involved him,” she said flatly. “You got drunk, you drove into the wrong lane, you nearly ended up in the ditch. You should be on your knees thanking the Lord that it was Daniel who found you and not someone who'd be quick to spread the news all over the valley.”

At last Anna's gaze evaded hers. Her cheeks flushed. “Maybe,” she muttered. “But I still don't see why you're so close with him.”

“I've helped with the children, as any neighbor would when there are motherless children.”

Anna stared at her, eyes widening. “You're not thinking— Leah, you can't be thinking about marrying him just because his children need a mother!”

Now it was her turn to glance away. “He hasn't asked me,” she said, knowing she was equivocating.

“How could you think of it? To marry a man you don't love—sometimes I think you don't even know what love is.”

The control Leah had been exercising suddenly slipped away from her. She clenched her hands to keep from grabbing her sister and shaking her.

“And I suppose you know all about love at eighteen.”

“More than you,” Anna snapped back. “I said it before, and it's true. You don't have any feelings at all.”

Leah did grab her then, startling herself as much as she did Anna. Grasping her sister's arms, she held her fast.

“How would you know what feelings I have? You don't spare a thought for anyone's feelings but your own. I know what it is to love and to lose and to spend your days trying to hide the pain. I don't need a child like you trying to give me lessons in what it is to love.”

Anna stared at her for a moment, eyes wide in a white face. Then she jerked free and ran out of the room.

•   •   •

She
might not feel at ease at the clinic, Leah decided, but at the moment, being here was better than being at home. She settled on a bench in the hallway, planning to go through her list of potential interviewees until her driver returned for her.

But her hands lay idle on the sheet. The days since that dreadful scene with Anna had been so strained that even Barbara, occupied as she was with her pregnancy, the house, and the children, had noticed it. Unfortunately her well-meant attempts to interfere had only made things worse.

Forgive me, Father. I sinned. I expressed anger with my sister instead of trying harder to help her. Now she won't even speak to me, and I fear I've driven her away. Please, forgive me and show me how to help Anna.

“Leah? Is something wrong?”

It was a measure of her distraction that she hadn't even heard Johnny approach. She shook her head, but the lump in her throat kept her from speech.

“I can see—” He stopped when a woman came out of the waiting room, leading a small boy by the hand. He waited until they'd left, then held out his hand to Leah. “We can't talk here. Come out to the back porch.”

There wasn't anything Johnny could do. There wasn't anything anyone could do, but Leah couldn't resist the concern in his face. Avoiding his hand, she rose and walked down the hallway with him.

A couple of rocking chairs had been added to the back porch furniture. She sat down, pleating her skirt with her fingers.

“So tell me.” Johnny sat down opposite, reaching out to still the nervous movement of her hand. “It must be something bad for you to look that way.”

“It's Anna.” It was a relief just to say the words. “I'm worried about Anna.”

“What has Anna been up to that causes you this much distress?”
His voice, warm and gentle, was the voice of her friend, of the person she'd known and cared about her whole life. “Running around too much with her friends? Trying to land you with her chores?”

That coaxed a reluctant smile from her, but almost immediately it trembled from her lips. “If only it were that.” She shook her head. “I know I can't expect her to have so tame a rumspringa as I did . . .”

He patted her hand. “No, I'm sure not.” There was amusement in the tone.

She pulled her hand away, straightening. “Don't laugh. It's not funny.” She looked at him, her eyes welling with tears. “Johnny, she came home so drunk that she was within inches of wrecking the buggy. Only the grace of God kept her from injury.”

She was relieved to see that her words wiped the amusement from his face.

“I'm sorry, Leah. She wasn't hurt, though?”

“No. Oh, I suppose my brothers probably did as bad, but this is my baby sister.”

“You've tried to talk to her?”

She felt the flood of sympathy, and it warmed her. “Tried and tried again. Daad has talked to her, too, with no results either. I'm afraid she's—”

She stopped, unable to put her fear into words.

“What?” His voice was gently insistent. “What do you think is going to happen to her?”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she had to force the words out. “I think she might leave.”

He didn't immediately respond, giving her time to think that maybe Johnny wasn't the best person to talk to about this. After all, that was just what he'd done.

“I'm sorry,” he said at last. “I know how scared that must make you.”

“It does.” The tightness in her throat eased just a little. “I don't begrudge her running-around time. I even understand it. And she's the baby, so maybe she's had her own way a little too much. But this—”

She stopped, shook her head. “I'm sorry. This is probably hard for you to talk about. I shouldn't burden you with it.”

“You're not.” He smiled slightly. “We're friends. Old friends, no matter what else happened. You can say anything to me, and I promise it won't go any further. You don't have to worry about that.”

“I don't.” She managed to return the smile. “I know I can trust you.” Johnny wouldn't talk. And he wouldn't condemn, either.

“You've been keeping this to yourself. That only increases the worry.” He shook his head. “Leah, you're always trying to take care of everyone. Look, what's the worst thing that could happen?”

“I could lose her.” She looked at him steadily.
The way Rachel lost you. The way I lost you.
She wouldn't say it, but he must know she was thinking it.

“If she left . . .” He paused. “Maybe I'm not completely impartial, Leah. But would it be such a terrible thing? You could still have a relationship with her. Maybe that's what she needs to do.”

“No!” She rejected that with every fiber of her being. “Anna is too young. She's rebellious, and she doesn't really understand what it would be like. Or what she'd be giving up.”

He leaned back in the rocker, his gaze intent on her face. “Maybe so. But sometimes, for some people, it's the right thing to do.”

“No. Not Anna.” She had to cling to that, because the alternative was too frightening.

“Maybe you're right. Maybe Anna is too young, or thinking about it for the wrong reasons. But you're not too young, Leah. Is it possible you're so worried about Anna because you're thinking about it, too?”

She jerked back as if he'd hit her. “No. I'm not.”

He brushed that aside with his hand. “Well, maybe you should be.”

She started to rise. She didn't want to hear this, and all the comfort she'd felt from Johnny was gone in an instant.

He grabbed her hand. “Wait. Just let me say this one thing. Can't you do that?”

She sat, perched on the edge of the chair, ready to flee. “Go on.”

“You're a good teacher, Leah.” He leaned toward her, hands braced on his knees. “I know that. But think how much more you could do if you were able to develop your teaching gifts to the fullest. You could get a degree, you could learn all the latest methods, you could—”

She stood, shaking her head. “No. Don't. You have no right to say that to me, John.”

“Why not?” He stood, too, and passion filled his voice. “I'm the person you said you loved once. Doesn't that give me a right to be concerned about you?”

Still shaking her head, she hurried to the door. “That was a lifetime ago.”

“It's still true.” His voice roughened. “Leah, let yourself think about it. Don't you fear that you aren't preparing your scholars for the world they have to live in? Haven't you thought that maybe the right place for you isn't here?”

She couldn't listen. She hurried through the hallway, out the front door, and down the steps to the parking lot where her driver was waiting.

But she couldn't outrun his words. They echoed in her heart, and she knew what she was afraid of. She was afraid they were true.

•   •   •

He'd
been on the verge of proposing marriage to Leah. Daniel frowned down at the road disappearing under the wheels of his buggy. The night that he'd taken Anna home, those quiet moments in the kitchen together . . .

Leah had been the one to draw back. He could only be grateful for that. He'd known, in the clear light of day, that he'd almost acted on impulse, something he'd vowed never to do.

He should have been able to think the situation through and come to a sensible conclusion. That was the only way to approach marrying again. Practical. Logical. Make a decision on what would be best for himself and his children.

Unfortunately, every time he tried to do that, the memory of Leah's caring face, her vulnerable eyes, got in the way.

There was the lane leading to the schoolhouse, and sure enough, Leah's buggy stood at the hitching post. He'd stopped by the Beiler farm, and Barbara had been delighted to tell him that Leah had gone to the school to do some work on her teaching materials. Barbara had obviously hoped there was a romantic reason for his visit.

Romantic
wasn't the word he'd have picked, he guessed. He had to talk to Leah, had to make a decision, one way or the other.

And then, of course, she'd have her say. He smiled ruefully as he stopped at the hitching post and climbed down. Maybe he was kidding himself even to think that her answer would be yes.

He went quickly to the open door and hesitated on the threshold. Without the children, the schoolroom was a little forlorn, as if it waited for their return.

Chiding himself for his fanciful thoughts, he stepped inside. Leah stood at her desk, a stack of books in front of her, watching him.

“Daniel. What brings you here?” She brushed a strand of hair back from her face and came around the desk toward him.

“I wanted to ask how things are going with Anna.” He went toward her and rested his hand on the corner of the desk. “Each time I've seen you since then, there have been so many other people around that I didn't want to bring it up.”

“I'm grateful for your silence. I told Anna she should be, too. There are others who'd have been hard put to hold their tongues if they'd found her that night.”

“Judging by the cold shoulder she's given me each time I've seen her, I don't guess she feels very grateful about it.”

“No. But she should.” Leah's eyes darkened with worry, making her look vulnerable. “I don't understand her anymore. I never thought I would say that.”

“Is she not sorry for what she did, then?” He'd think the embarrassment alone would be enough to bring the child to her senses.

“If she is, she's doing a fine job of hiding it.” She smoothed the errant strand of hair back again. “All she seems to think about is going out with her friends.”

“English friends.” He filled in the word.

“I suppose so. She doesn't confide in me.” A spasm of pain crossed her face as she said the words.

It made him want to put his arms around her, comfort her, tell her everything would be all right. But he couldn't. Because he didn't have
the right, and because he couldn't be sure it would. He barely knew Anna, but he feared for her.