At Home in Pleasant Valley (53 page)

She'd almost rather he snapped back at her, instead of being so reasonable. “Sorry.” She bit off the word and started back down the hall.

He fell into step beside her. “I tried to stay in touch with my English friends when I came back. But it just didn't work.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “I guess we didn't understand each other's lives anymore. We didn't have anything to say to each other.”

“That won't happen with Liz. We're too close for that.”

He pushed the door open, holding it for her. “I hope you're right, if that's what you want. But maybe in the long run you'll drift apart. That doesn't mean the friendship wasn't strong, just that it was time for it to end.”

In the long run she wouldn't be here. She might not be lying outright about that, but with every word, every thought, she was deceiving people. She'd thought it wouldn't matter, as long as Gracie was safe, but it did.

•   •   •

“I
just want to go over the records for the shop.” Joseph tried to push himself up from the rocking chair in which he'd been settled. He grimaced in pain, and Anna helped Myra ease him gently back down.

“I'll get the books, all right?” That was the last thing Anna thought Joseph should be doing after the exhausting day he'd had coming home from the hospital, but he'd reached the point of irrationality.

She exchanged glances with Myra and saw that her sister-in-law was thinking exactly what she was. If Joseph were a cranky toddler, they'd put him to bed no matter how he objected.

Daadi, sitting in the rocker across the room, cleared his throat. When Anna looked at him, he nodded slightly.

All right, she'd get the books. She headed out the back door, pausing on the porch step to listen to the stillness.

Dusk had settled over the farm, easing away the day's work, telling them it was time for rest. It reminded her of the storybook she'd read to Sarah and Gracie when she'd settled them in bed, all about the mother creatures of the farm putting their babies to sleep.

Thank goodness the rest of the family, except for Daadi, had finally gone home. They'd meant well, she supposed, gathering around to share the happiness that Joseph had left the hospital at last. But she'd seen the pain and exhaustion on his face.

She walked across the lawn, frowning when she realized that the shop door stood open, framing a rectangle of light from a lamp.

Samuel must still be there.

She stopped in the doorway. “Samuel, you are working late.”

“Ach, not working exactly.” His hand was arrested on the point of
extinguishing the battery-powered lamp that stood on the workbench. “Just clearing up a little. What brings you out here?”

“Joseph. He won't settle down and go to bed. He wants to look at the records.”

“He thinks I won't keep up with the paperwork, that's all.” Samuel grinned, shaking his head. “And he'd be right about that. But should Joseph be taxing his eyes with figures?”

“Probably not, but he's past being sensible. Maybe if he sees for himself, he'll be content to go to bed where he belongs.”

“Stubborn, that's what he is.” Samuel pulled a dark green ledger from a shelf. “I will go in with you, if that is all right, and tell him everything is under control. He might believe it.”

“I hope so.” She waited in the doorway while he turned off the lantern and joined her. “
Is
everything under control?”

Samuel didn't speak for a moment, his face somber in the dimming light. “I'm not so gut as Joseph is at the work. Nor so fast. I'm thinking I should maybe send the gelding back to Mr. Bartlett. I'm not going to have time for him and the shop as well.”

“You can't do that.” The words were out before Anna thought about them. “The horses mean so much to you. You can't give that up. I mean, I'm sure Joseph wouldn't want you to do that,” she added hastily.

“Denke, Anna.” He stared across the fields toward his barn, as if longing to be there now. “But I can't let Joseph down when he needs me.”

“I guess not.” She couldn't argue with that. “Why not wait a few days before you do anything? Let things settle down a little before you make a decision.”

“You give gut advice,” Samuel said, smiling. “I'll think on that. Wait and see how Joseph is after he's had some rest.”

“Rest is exactly what he needs. Even the trip home tired him. He should have been in bed hours ago, but he wouldn't go while people were here.”

“Maybe he enjoyed the company after a week in the hospital.”

“If it were me, I'd rather be alone.”

He tilted his head, eyes crinkling. “Myra had a cat when she was little. Foolish creature tangled with a groundhog and came out the worse. The cat crawled under the barn to nurse its wounds, and Myra
cried herself sick until I went in after it. I was bleeding worse than the cat by the time I got it out.”

Anna found she was laughing as they reached the porch. “That's me, all right. Don't come near if you don't want to be scratched.”

“I'll keep it in mind.” He took a step toward the porch.

Anna caught his arm to stop him, and he instantly turned to her.

“Just one thing before we go in . . .” She should mind her own business, but she couldn't stop herself. “Remember what I said. Don't give up on the horse unless there's no other way.”

He stood still, his gaze fixed on her face. “Denke, Anna.” His voice was soft, his head tilting so that they were very close in the quiet evening. She felt the corded muscles of his arm, strong under her hand, his skin warm against her palm.

Her breath caught. His eyes seemed to darken, but maybe that was a trick of the light. The moment stretched between them, as fragile as glass.

Then he was turning to the house. “Maybe we'd best go in.”

She nodded, moving quickly up the three steps to the porch and across it to the door. They'd better, before she let herself be so silly as to imagine she felt something for Samuel.

He followed her into the living room. Myra stood next to Joseph, her hand on his arm. “Komm now, to bed. The books will wait until tomorrow, ain't so?”

“Ja,” Samuel said quickly. “There's nothing here for you to do tonight. Get some rest, and we'll talk in the morning.”

Joseph shook off his wife's hand, frowning either from headache or frustration. “Everyone should just stop telling me what to do. I'm fine.”

Myra looked at Anna—the wordless exchange of mothers who know the signs of overtiredness in young children. The sensation of understanding and being understood jolted her, coming so close on that moment outside with Samuel. A flicker of panic went through her. She didn't want to be fitting in here. She didn't belong here any longer.

Without a word, Samuel handed Joseph the ledger. Joseph opened it, stared at the page for a moment, and then slammed it shut, pressing a hand to his forehead.

“Useless,” he muttered. “I'm useless. I can't even see the page to keep the books for you. What gut am I like this?”

Samuel's face tightened, a muscle twitching next to his lips. Anna knew what he was going to say, and she was helpless to stop him.

“I can handle the business until you are well. You must not fret over it. I'll send the gelding back to the Englischer so I can concentrate on the shop.”

A protest rose to her lips, but she stifled it. This wasn't her business, remember?

“Oh, Samuel, you mustn't do that.” Myra's face puckered. Poor Myra was on the verge of tears, worn out by her worries for Joseph and her fears about her pregnancy.

“Myra . . .” Anna wasn't sure what she intended to say, but she didn't get a chance.

“That is enough.” Daad's voice was quiet, but it carried a firmness that wouldn't be denied, reminding them that he was the authority in the family. He rose from the rocking chair where he'd been sitting, watching them all. “Joseph, you are too tired to be thinking about the business. Your job now is to rest and get well so that you can care for your wife and family.”

For an instant Joseph looked mulish, but then his gaze fell, and he nodded. “Ja, Daadi.”

“There is no need for Samuel to give up his work with the horses. I have spoken to Daniel and Leah. Their boy Matthew will come every day, starting tomorrow, to work in the shop. I also will help. If more is needed, Mahlon can come in the evenings. Anna can take over the book work. She is gut with that.”

He was telling them what to do without the least doubt that they would obey. For an instant the old rebellion flared in her.

She slammed the door on it. She was a woman grown, not a heedless teenager. If she expected the family to take her and Gracie in, she had to do her part.

“Ja, Daadi,” she said.

“Komm now.” Daadi took Joseph's arm, and Samuel moved quickly to his other side. “It is past time you were in bed.”

S
amuel
led Bartlett's gelding toward the ring he used for training. He hadn't expected to have time to work with the animal today, sure that despite what Elias Beiler said, he'd have to give up training the animal until Joseph was well again.

That would mean giving up entirely, he was sure. The little he'd seen of Bartlett had suggested the man wasn't endowed with much patience. If Samuel couldn't do the work on his timetable, he'd find someone else.

But to Samuel's surprise, by three in the afternoon he and young Matthew had gotten through the day's work, and with a bit of assistance from Elias, they'd begun to catch up on tasks that he'd let slide while Joseph had been in the hospital.

Matthew was keen on anything mechanical—that was certain-sure. Daniel was going to end up being disappointed in his wish to see the boy a farmer. There wasn't much point in arguing with a God-given gift. Probably the younger son would be the farmer in the family.

So the burden of the shop had eased, but another had come to take its place. Samuel couldn't stop thinking about those moments with Anna last night.

They'd been talking, that was all, just being friendly. He'd even been thinking what a relief it was that Anna was talking to him as she might to a brother, instead of an enemy.

Then she had put her hand on his arm, and he'd looked into her eyes, and he'd felt as if the world were not steady under his feet. He'd gone on one of those carnival rides once, when he was a teenager, where the floor suddenly went out from under you. It had been like that—confusing and exciting all at the same time.

His life wasn't a carnival ride, and he wasn't looking to make a commitment to anyone. Maybe he never would be. The thought of his father sent coldness through him. So he had to show Anna that he wanted to be her friend. Nothing less, but nothing more, either.

It was about time to show Star that he wanted to be friends, too. He led the animal to the center of the ring and stopped, unclipping the lead line and holding him by the halter. Star was getting to know him now, and he consented to having his forehead rubbed.

Talking softly all the while, he let go of the halter and walked around the animal. Star's ears moved toward him, his eyes watching Samuel warily.

When he'd gotten behind him, he flicked the line lightly toward Star's rump. The gelding's head jerked up, the whites of his eyes showing, and he trotted toward the fence. Another flick of the rope sent him cantering around the ring.

Samuel kept his gaze on the horse, turning to face him as Star circled, flicking the rope occasionally to keep him moving. The animal had beautiful conformation and a smooth, fluid gait. Mr. Bartlett had chosen well when he bought him.

But something or someone had made the horse cautious, even afraid of humans. Samuel had asked around, knowing the interest horsemen had in other people's animals. Word was that Bartlett had been ready to give up on the animal before he'd shown up here. A pity that would have been to let one person's mistake ruin such a fine animal.

Samuel was barely aware of time passing as he worked the horse, first in one direction, then in the other. When Star finally began showing signs that he wanted to stop, Samuel coiled up the line, turning away from the horse as if losing interest.

His senses alert, he waited to see what the animal would do. Was he ready to extend some trust? Star took a few steps toward him, head down. Then a few more. Finally he nudged Samuel's shoulder with his nose.

Pleasure welled up in Samuel as he turned toward the horse, giving him a strong rub on the forehead. “You are a fine boy, you are.”

He walked away a few steps. Sure enough, the gelding followed
him. He circled to the right, letting Star follow, until he was facing Joseph and Myra's place. And stopped. Anna stood there, watching him.

The surge of pleasure he felt at seeing her was even stronger than his pleasure with the horse—strong enough to remind him of his decision. He must show Anna that he wanted to be her friend, nothing else. He couldn't let her feel awkward with him because of a moment's unguarded attraction. He also couldn't let her think there was anything more between them.

He walked toward her, the gelding following him. “I'm sorry,” he said as he reached the fence. “I did not realize you were here.”

“I didn't want to interrupt you when you were working.” She was staring at Star, who had stopped a few feet away from the fence, eyeing Anna much as she did him. “Is this the same animal that was so skittish the last time I saw him?”

“He's settled down.”

“You mean
you've
settled him down. I watched you working with him. That's amazing.”

He shrugged. “Nothing so special about it—it just takes patience and gentleness.”

“If that was all, anyone could do it. I've never seen a horse bond with a person so fast.”

“Horses are herd animals, and he's missing his herd. I just helped get him wanting to be a part of my herd.”

She looked unconvinced. “How can you possibly know what he wants? Honestly, Samuel, it's as if you can read his mind.”

“Not his mind.” He smiled at the idea. “But since the horse can't say what he's thinking or feeling, you have to learn to read his movements and reactions to understand him.”

She thought that over, nodding slowly. “That's exactly what a mother does with a baby. Those first weeks are so scary, because you haven't a clue to what they want. And then, when you're ready to tear your hair out, you realize you've figured out what every cry and every movement is saying.”

“It's much the same, I'd say.” Her comments had set him wondering. “You had little Gracie from the time she was born?”

“Ja. Jannie never came out of the hospital after her birth.” Anna's eyes clouded with the words. “She was able to hold the baby once, but that was all. Then she just slipped away from us.”

He'd never met Jannie, but he could picture the scene just the same. “I'm sorry for your loss. It must have been ser hard for you.”

“I loved her like she was my own sister. I guess I felt responsible for her, too, because she didn't have anyone.”

Neither did you, Anna,
he thought but didn't say. “Couldn't the doctors do anything for her?”

She shook her head. “They said Jannie might have lived a little longer if not for the stress of the pregnancy, but I know she never regretted having the baby.”

“And you've never regretted taking her, that's clear.”

“Not for a minute.” Anna's lips curved in the way they did whenever she mentioned Gracie. “Even when she kept me up all night when I had to go to work early. Even when she scared me half to death running a fever.”

What must it have been like for Anna, raised in a family and community that supported each member, to have dealt with such a life-changing experience all alone? He couldn't imagine.

“Gracie is lucky to have you.”

Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “I'm the lucky one. She's exactly what I wanted most in the world, but I never knew that until I held her in my arms.”

He hesitated. “Gracie's birth father—he doesn't want her at all?”

Tension tightened Anna's mouth. “He signed the legal papers giving up all his rights to her months before she was born. He just walked away.”

The words set up an echo in Samuel's heart. His father had walked away, too. He'd thought that once he found his father, maybe he could understand his leaving, but he hadn't understood. He never would.

When he was growing up, folks had always said how much he was like his daadi. He'd thought then that nothing could be any better than that.

Anna was looking at him, maybe wondering why he was quiet for so long. Pain gripped his heart, and he tried to shove it away. Anna
seemed to have the power to bring out all the thoughts and feelings he tried to forget, and for an instant that angered him.

“Did you want to see me about something?” The question was too sharp, honed by the unsettling memories of his father.

Anna blinked a little, her face tightening at his abrupt tone. She took a step back from the fence, as if she shouldn't be there.

“It's not urgent. I've put together a simple way for us to keep track of the income and expenses, that's all. I'm sure you want to work with the horse now, so I'll show it to you later.”

She turned, walking away with her head erect.

He'd upset her. They'd been talking like friends about something that was painful to her, and he'd cut her off as if he didn't care. He didn't like himself much at that moment.

But maybe her anger with him was all for the best. He couldn't let Anna start to depend on him, because he didn't trust himself enough for that.

This was right, he reminded himself firmly. So why did it make him feel so bad?

•   •   •

People
were staring at them. Anna sat next to Myra in the waiting room at the medical clinic. She clasped her hands together in her lap, staring down at them, and willed herself not to mind.

She'd forgotten what it was like to be the object of that rude gawking. In the city, she'd been one of thousands of people, all busy with their own concerns, not so much as making eye contact with those they passed in the street.

Here, in these clothes, she was an object of curiosity. She'd always hated that. She hated it now.

She glanced at Myra and gave herself a mental kick. She should be comforting Myra at this moment, not absorbed in her own feelings.

She touched Myra's sleeve. “Maybe it won't be much longer.”

At least she didn't have to be concerned that anyone else in the waiting room would understand the dialect. That was one advantage of their differences.

“Ja.” Myra grabbed her hand and clung. “This test—do you know anything about it?”

“Didn't the doctor tell you what to expect?”

Myra shook her head. “He told us all the risks of the test, and that I should have it anyway.” Her fingers clutched and strained. “Anna, what if it hurts the baby?”

Anna wrapped the straining fingers in hers. “Listen, it's going to be all right. I remember when my friend Jannie had to have so many different tests, and she came through them fine.”

“Did she have this amniocentesis?” Myra said the word carefully in English, there being no equivalent in Pennsylvania Dutch.

“Ja, she did.” Anna had gone straight to the computer on campus then and looked it up, so that she and Jannie would be ready. “Why did the doctor say you had to have this test? Was it because of something that showed up on a blood test?”

Myra nodded. “The doctor said so. He has many Amish patients, so he knows about the inherited diseases.”

That was one of the perils of being Amish. With most of the community descended from the same small group of ancestors, the chance of genetic abnormalities showing up was greater. Anna's heart twisted as she thought of her own healthy child.

“What will they do to me?” Myra's eyes clouded with worry.

“I'm sure the nurse will describe it to you.” It might have saved Myra some apprehension if the doctor had explained when he'd ordered the test. “They'll do an ultrasound to see exactly where the baby is. Then the doctor will put in a long needle and take out a tiny amount of the fluid around the baby to test.”

Myra closed her eyes for a moment. Anna seemed to see Jannie, face pale, closing her eyes at the prospect of yet another test, trying to shut out the bad things.

“Denke,” Myra murmured, opening her eyes. “I feel better when I know what to expect.” She patted Anna's hand and released it. “Let's talk of something else.”

“All right. What?” She was willing to cooperate, although she suspected Myra wouldn't be diverted so easily.

“Are you sure you are willing to take care of the books for the business?”

“It's no trouble at all. I'm happy to help with the shop.”

Except for the fact that Samuel seemed to be avoiding her these days. He still hadn't managed to find time to talk with her about the simple system she was trying to set up to keep track of expenses.

“You mustn't take notice if Joseph fusses at you about it. He thinks no one can do it but him.”

“I won't let Joseph worry me.”

As for Samuel—well, obviously he had been embarrassed by the foolish little surge of attraction between them. Maybe he'd thought she was growing too attached to him. Warmth came up in her cheeks at the thought.

“Something is wrong between you and Samuel,” Myra said, again seeming to read Anna's thoughts.

Was she so transparent? Her first instinct was to deny it. “What makes you say that?”

Myra shook her head. “I know my brother too well. I can see what's happening. He likes you, and that makes him nervous.”

“It's nothing—I mean, he doesn't like me that way. We're old friends, that's all.”

Myra seemed to catch back a sigh. “He likes you,” she repeated. “I saw it, and I hoped . . . Well, I know I shouldn't matchmake.”

“No, you shouldn't.” Anna's stomach twisted at the thought that people might have been talking about her and Samuel.

“He's never been exactly outgoing with girls. Slow and steady, that's our Samuel.” Myra's smile had a tinge of sadness. “But after our daad left, it seemed like he turned inward. Mammi tried to get us to talk about it, but Samuel never would.”

“He was about sixteen, wasn't he, when your daad jumped the fence?”

“Ja. We were all sad and hurt, but Samuel took it the hardest. He and Daadi were always so close, you see. Samuel just couldn't understand it. He couldn't talk about it, either.”

Anna remembered when Ezra Fisher left. The valley had buzzed with little else for a couple of weeks. It wasn't unusual for a teenage boy
to take off, but for a man in his forties with a wife and family—that was practically unheard of.