At Home in Pleasant Valley (59 page)

She'd never really thought about it before. As a small child, she'd found it a happy break in the routine; as a teenager, she had usually complained beforehand, no matter how much she enjoyed the gathering once she actually got there.

The work frolic was comforting in its own way, a time for women's voices and women's work and women's laughter. If the men and the children had been here to share the meal, the talk wouldn't turn to matters of pregnancy, childbirth, and mothering.

“You're fortunate, you are, Esther.” Barbara helped herself to a slab of applesauce cake. “When we host church, it must be in the barn. The way your living room and dining room join makes it easier to have it in the house already.”

“I hope folks will not feel too crowded.” Esther cast an anxious glance toward the front of the new house she and Mahlon had moved into in the spring. “We'll have to do the gathering with women in the kitchen and men on the front porch, I think.”

“Ja, that will work best,” Barbara agreed.

The gathering before the service allowed worshippers to file into the house in the traditional order . . . older women first, then younger, followed by children and teenage girls. Then the men, with the teenage boys bringing up the rear.

Anna found she was visualizing the silent procession, feeling the spirit of solemnity it added in preparation for worship. They didn't enter worship individually, chattering about the week's events or laughing with friends. Even if the place of worship was a barn, it was entered with reverence.

Esther poured coffee into thick white mugs. “I wish Myra had come today. Anna, you must take some applesauce cake home to her. Is she eating all right?”

“I don't think she's had much appetite the past couple of days, but she's making an effort.”

“Gut, gut.” Barbara heaved a sigh, her usually happy face solemn. Barbara had popped out five healthy kinder with little fuss and bother, and she was obviously hurting for Myra. “I wish we could do something. Leah, do you think this doctor can really be sure?”

As always, the family turned to Leah, the teacher, for answers.

“Not one hundred percent, as Dr. Brandenmyer told Myra, but the test she had is nearly always right. He's very gut at what he does. We're fortunate to have him in the area.”

“The Amish are the reason he came here,” Esther pointed out. “For the genetics, Mahlon tells me.”

Anna had to contain a smile at hearing her scatterbrained brother held up as an authority. She could tell that Leah had the same impulse, and it reminded her of all the times Leah had nudged her to keep an unwise word to herself, as if she saw the thought forming in a balloon over Anna's head.

“All we can do is give them our support and pray that the boppli is born healthy,” Leah said.

“Dr. Brandenmyer said that fifty percent of Down's syndrome children have heart defects.” Anna's heart ached as she said the words.

“Well, and that means fifty percent don't. We will pray for that, and for strength and wisdom for Myra and Joseph.” Leah's tone was soft but firm. “Such children can sometimes go to school, like the Esch boy and Ezra Miller's two youngest.”

“Ja, that's true.”

Anna realized that Leah wanted to keep them focused on the positive, and she was right. Myra didn't need gloomy faces around her.

And Esther, who was still childless, didn't need to be frightened by a situation she might never have to deal with. Esther probably already worried about all the cases of Crigler-Najjar syndrome in the Miller family tree.

Esther's family included her distant cousins, who had been coming home from a visit to relatives when they'd had the misfortune to meet up with Anna Beiler behind the wheel of a car.

If she could find a chance to talk to Esther alone, she would ask about them. She'd never understood what the family had gone through until those moments coming home from the fair, when she'd held Gracie close to her body, terrified that she wouldn't be able to protect the baby if the worst happened.

She'd never be able to find peace until she could make amends. The thoughts she'd been having about staying—how could she do that if she were not forgiven?

The others began getting up from the table, gathering their belongings together, and she saw her chance.

“Let me help you clean up the kitchen, Esther.” She seized a stack of plates and carried them to the sink. “I don't have to be home right away.”

Esther protested, of course, but in a few minutes the others were gone, and they were alone together in the kitchen.

Esther rinsed soap from a plate and handed it to her to dry. “You really didn't need to stay,” she said.

“Actually, I wanted to talk with you.”

“With me?” The whites of Esther's eyes showed, as if she were afraid of what Mahlon's fence-jumping sister might want of her.

“About your cousins who live out on the Fisherdale Road. Aaron Esch and his family.” She sucked in a breath. “The people I hit with the car that night.”

“Oh.” Esther's apprehension didn't ease. “What about them?”

“I would like to go and see them.” She chose her words carefully. “So that I can tell them how sorry I am. But I don't want to go there if they would rather I didn't.”

That sounded as if she was trying to protect herself, wanting only to go if she could be assured of a welcome. Was that really what was behind her thoughts?

“Do you think they might be willing to talk with me?”

Esther washed a cup with unnecessary vigor. “I'm not sure that's a gut idea.”

Anna felt as if she'd taken a punch to the stomach. “You mean they haven't forgiven me.”

She hadn't truly anticipated that, she realized. Forgiveness was a basic tenet of Amish faith. She'd always thought, deep in her heart, that they would forgive.

“I don't know,” Esther said, taking Anna's hand in her wet, soapy one. “Really, Anna, I don't. I mean, they wouldn't say much to me, being married to your brother. I just remember talk about how the little girl cried every time she had to get in a buggy afterward, and well . . .”

“I see.” Where did she go from here? Anna wondered. If forgiveness wasn't possible, what then?

S
amuel
patted the big gelding, murmuring soothingly as he lifted the front hoof to finish the shoeing job. He had the animal in cross ties in the barn, but still, he was cautious, as always, working around a creature that outweighed him by so much.

Concentrating on the job at hand usually wasn't hard for him, but today too many other thoughts distracted him. Like Myra's unborn baby. Like Anna, and his feelings for her.

With Mamm gone, and Joseph's mamm passed as well, he'd thought maybe Myra would want their sister to come from Indiana at this difficult time, but she'd rejected that when he suggested it. She had her sisters-in-law, she'd said. She had Anna right here every day.

He began pulling off the old shoe. It had worn a bit unevenly, he noticed. He'd have to check the other shoes for that. A quiver went over the horse's skin, and he leaned against the animal's shoulder, comforting it.

Anna was here, ja, she was. He couldn't think about her without going right back to their trip to the fair. To what had happened on the way home.

The lack of knowledge that made a driver blow a horn in the horse's ears didn't surprise him—that sort of thing happened often enough that he didn't give it a second thought any longer, especially when he was driving an animal as well-mannered as Blackie. But Anna's reaction had startled him.

It had startled her, too, he figured. Her memories and grief had overwhelmed her without warning. She'd clutched Gracie as if she'd never let go.

As for him, he hadn't been much help to her in that crisis, now had he? Afterward, when it was too late, he'd thought of a dozen things he should have said to her. Maybe he really was as slow as Anna had always thought him.

Putting the hoof down, he straightened, stretching his back. Farriers who did this all day long often ended up bent over nearly double. He took the new horseshoe from the box.

“Komm now,” he said, running his hand down the leg, pinching the cannon bone to get the animal to lift his hoof. “Almost done.”

Ja, his day at the fair with Anna and Gracie had turned out different from what he'd expected. He'd thought they would have a pleasant day out, a chance for both of them to see how well they fit together, with no commitment on either side. Instead, a car full of careless teenagers had pushed them too far, too fast.

Well, him at least. He'd recognized, standing there feeling helpless when Anna needed him, that he'd gone beyond friendship, like it or not.

As for Anna—who knew what she felt? They hadn't been alone together since, so maybe that in itself was an answer.

He started to clinch the nails when the barn door rattled.

“Samuel?”

The gelding snorted, jerking against the cross ties. Off balance, Samuel tumbled backward.

“Samuel!” Anna arrived at his side a second later, before he could get himself up off the floor.

“I'm so sorry.” She reached for him, her face filled with worry. “I shouldn't have come in without checking to see what you were doing.”

She slid her arm around his waist to help him to his feet, and for a moment he let himself enjoy her embrace. Then he straightened.

“It's nothing. I am fine.” He flexed his wrist, wincing a little. Maybe not so fine.

“You're hurt.” Anna took his wrist in her hands, feeling it gently.

“It's nothing. Just a little bruise.” He pushed away the temptation to let her keep fussing over him.

“I'll get some cold water.” Before he could protest, she'd grabbed
a bucket and hurried to the barn pump. She pumped furiously, filling the bucket.

In a moment she was back. She grabbed his hand and thrust his fist into the bucket. “This will help stop the swelling.”

Suppressing a smile, he sat down on a straw bale, bucket and all. “Ja, Dr. Anna.”

“Don't laugh,” she protested, and he saw how seriously she was taking it. “I've caused enough trouble for people already. I don't want to add you to my list. Especially not now.”

“It was Star's fault, not yours.” He nodded to the gelding, now watching them as calm as he could be. “If I'd had my mind on my work, he wouldn't have gotten away with it.”

Samuel certain-sure wasn't going to tell her why his mind had been straying, not with her sitting next to him on the straw bale, looking at him with such concern in those blue eyes.

He forced himself to stop drowning in those eyes and concentrated on what she'd said. “What did you mean, ‘especially now'?”

“That's what I came to tell you. One of Bartlett's workers stopped by the house. Mr. Bartlett is coming this evening to see how the horse is coming along. If your wrist is bad, you won't be able to show him what you've done with Star.” She sounded ready to weep at the thought.

“Ach, it's okay.” He lifted his hand, dripping, from the water and flexed his fist. “See? And the gelding will do fine.” He smiled. “As long as you promise not to scare him.”

“Maybe I'd better stay far away.” She gave a mock shudder. “I wouldn't want to jinx you.”

“You couldn't do that.” He saw the concern that lingered in her face, and he longed to wipe it away, longed to see her smile.

“I told Myra I would bring Bartlett's message over because I wanted to see you.” She was looking down, so that all he could see of her face was the curve of her cheek. “I haven't properly thanked you for your kindness the other day.”

“You do not need to thank me, Anna. You were hurting. I wish I could have found the right words to make it easier for you. But I'm not so gut at that.”

“What you said was true, and I'd always rather hear truth than pleasant lies.”

Who had told her pleasant lies? he wondered. Someone out in the English world? A man she cared for?

“I'm sorry that you were frightened.”

He didn't dare raise the question of who had told her pleasant lies. If he asked, if she answered, it would be yet another step deeper into a relationship he wasn't sure could work for either of them.

Anna shook her head. “Maybe what happened was for the best. It made me feel how much hurt I caused when I went away. If I'm going to stay here, I have to make amends for that.”

If
. The word chilled him. “Are you putting conditions on being here, Anna?”

She looked at him then. “I don't want to, but you're the one who said I must make amends.”

“I don't think that's exactly what I said—”

She shook her head, cutting him off. “Close enough, and it's what I feel, too. Now that I know what that family went through because of me, I have to find a way to make things right with them.”

“Your father already took care of the buggy. By this time, they will surely have forgotten about it.”

Her eyes darkened. “Esther thinks they wouldn't want to see me, so I've written them a letter, saying how sorry I am.” She gave a shaky little laugh. “Who would guess it could take three hours to write a single page?”

“It's not easy to express what's in your heart.”

Who knew that better than he did? Right now his own heart filled with caring for her, but he couldn't find the words to express any of it.

And even if he could, should he? Anna had the baby to consider. She couldn't take a chance on a man who might let her down.

Anna sat still a moment longer, looking at him as if waiting for something. Then she rose.

“Denke, Samuel. Thank you for listening. I should go. I hope it goes well with Mr. Bartlett.”

He should stop her. He should tell her what he felt. But doubt kept him silent.

•   •   •

“I
heard a truck,” Myra said, glancing toward the side window that overlooked the lane and the ring where Samuel worked the horses. “It must be that Englischer, come to see Samuel about the horse.”

Anna dried the dish she was holding and detoured past the window to put it away. “It is. He's standing by the fence, talking to Samuel.”

She forced herself to move away again. It wouldn't help Samuel's confidence if he thought they were spying on him.

“Ach, I pray it will go well for him.” Myra's voice filled with concern. “Samuel was so nervous he hardly touched his supper, did you notice?”

Anna nodded. She'd noticed. She'd seen his big hands crumbling his roll instead of lifting it to his mouth. She'd begun to notice too much about Samuel for her own peace of mind.

“Samuel has such a gift with the horses,” Myra went on, apparently determined to talk about her brother. “I think it could be a business for him, don't you?”

Anna did, but she wasn't sure whether to say so or not. She glanced at the living room, where Joseph was sitting on the floor, playing with Sarah and Gracie.

“He wouldn't do that as long as Joseph needs him,” she said, lowering her voice to speak under the clatter of dishes. “You know that.”

“Ja, but Joseph is better.” Myra was sounding more like her normally optimistic self tonight. “Look at him, playing in there with the little girls. He hasn't done that since the accident.”

“We'll probably have to help him up off the floor when he's done.”

Myra giggled. “You're right. And he won't like it, ain't so?”

That little giggle did Anna's heart good. “We'll make him behave, the two of us.”

Myra nodded, her hand stilling on the cloth. “He's been so worried about me he's practically ferhoodled these days. But that must stop. I'm fine now.”

Myra could hardly be fine, but if she was adjusting to the news, that was a relief. She'd seemed so quiet and stunned at first that they hadn't known what to do. “I'm glad you're feeling better.”

“Ja.” Myra ran her hand over her belly, smiling a little. “It's so foolish to worry. God will take care of our little boppli, I know.”

Anna wasn't sure how to respond to that. Was Myra trying to convince herself that the test had been wrong? Surely not.

“I'm sure God will be with you and the boppli,” she said finally.

Myra put another dish in the drainer, her lips still curving in a smile. “I love him already, you know. I feel as if my love protects him.”

“Ja, I know.”

This was bringing back memories. Jannie, convincing herself that all the tests were wrong, that she would be well and healthy, that Pete would give up his drugs, that they'd live happily ever after.

“You feel that way about your Gracie,” Myra said. “At first I didn't know what to think when you told us she'd been born to your friend, but now I see that you love her just as much as if you'd carried her, like I am carrying my little boy.”

“Did the doctor say the baby is a boy?” Anna didn't remember anyone saying the baby's sex. In fact, she'd thought Myra and Joseph didn't want to know.

“No, but I can tell.” Myra caressed her stomach again. “I know.”

Alarms went off in Anna's head. Myra's grief would be all the worse if she convinced herself of things that weren't true.

“You know, in those booklets the doctor gave us, it mentions a woman at the clinic who counsels patients.” Now that Anna thought about it, that was probably the woman Leah had mentioned. “Maybe it would be a gut idea to go and talk with her a time or two.”

“Ach, I don't need that. I have you to talk to, and Joseph. I'm fine.”

“Myra . . .”

But Myra had walked over to the window. “Look, Anna. Samuel is working the horse now. Oh, he looks fine. You'd never know that gelding was the same skittish animal, would you?”

Anna joined Myra, standing back from the window so that Samuel would not catch their faces pressed against the glass. She could see
Samuel perfectly well from here—his shoulders broad under his blue shirt, his black suspenders crossing them. He wore his straw hat, but even with the shade it cast she could see the intent look on his face as he worked the horse.

“He's done such a professional job with the gelding. I hope Mr. Bartlett appreciates it.”

Myra clutched Anna's hand, as if that would make the watching easier. “I know I'm prejudiced because he's my brother, but Samuel really is a fine-looking man, don't you think?”

Since that was just what she'd been thinking, she could hardly argue, so she nodded. “He has a lot of character in his face.”

“Everyone sees that, I think. Everyone but him.” Myra's eyes misted over. “When our father left, it seemed like he took all of Samuel's confidence with him. I'm afraid Samuel fears he's like Daadi. Unreliable.”

Everything in Anna rose to deny that. “That's just nonsense. Everyone knows how responsible he is. Why, look how he's taking care of the business. He'll even give up working with the horses if Joseph needs him.”

She was giving away feelings she hadn't even known she had, speaking so heatedly in Samuel's defense. But surely anyone who knew Samuel well would say the same.

Who was she kidding? She had feelings for him. If she were free to follow her instincts . . .

But she wasn't. She glanced into the living room. Gracie stood, a red ball in one hand, attempting to throw it toward Joseph. Instead it slipped from her grasp when she flung her arm up, falling behind her. She spun around, wobbling a little, looking at the ball with round-eyed surprise.

Anna's heart clenched with love. She couldn't follow her instincts where Samuel or any other man was concerned, because her daughter came first. Maybe she understood, better than she had thought at first, Myra's frantic need to believe her baby was all right. The love of mother for child was elemental.

If she stayed, if Samuel was interested and willing to commit . . . Well, those were all huge ifs. How could she be sure that this life was right for her baby? And how could she be sure that her own rebellious spirit wouldn't wake and demand freedom again?