Leah's Choice (9 page)

Leah heard the squeak of wagon wheels and Johanna materialized out of the dark, pulling Jonah’s little red wagon. Katy, the baby, sprawled inside, one small booted foot hanging over the wooden railing.

“Not so far,” Johanna said. “We took a shortcut through the fields, came down the woods lane and up through your pasture.”

It was still a long way for a four-year-old to walk and her sister to pull the baby. “Is she asleep?” She hugged Johanna. “I wish I’d known you wanted to come. I’d have hitched up one of the horses and driven over to fetch you.”

“Too bad we don’t have one of those cell phones,” Johanna said, switching off her flashlight and putting it in the wagon. “But it didn’t take me long. Katy’s sleeping like a log. It’s way past her bedtime.”

Leah looked at her, waiting for some explanation.

“Wilmer’s not at home, and Jonah and I decided that it would be fun to spend the night with all of you,” Johanna said.

“Wilmer took the horse and buggy?” Mam asked. Leah could tell by her mother’s tone that she was suspicious, too. This simply wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision to come visiting, but Johanna would tell them the real reason when she was good and ready.

“
Ya,
he did. I don’t expect him home tonight, and we got lonely for company, didn’t we, Jonah?” Johanna said with forced joviality. She lifted Katy, still sleeping and clutching her beloved rag doll, out of the wagon and cradled her against one shoulder. “Has everyone else gone to bed?”

“I think so,” Mam replied. “But we’ve always got room for you. Leah can take Jonah to bed with her, and you can sleep with me.”

“I think there’s some rhubarb pie left,” Leah said. She knew that Johanna was partial to rhubarb.

“That and a glass of buttermilk would hit the spot,” her sister murmured.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Mam said. “Let’s get these little ones into the house and into bed. Thank goodness I’ve got that crib still set up in the corner of my bedroom.”

Johanna and Leah glanced at each other and laughed. Mam had had that crib there as long as either of them could remember. It was always useful for visiting grandchildren or neighbors’ babies or for church services when the whole congregation came for the day. The quilts and sheets changed over the years, but they were always kept fresh and clean, and Leah had lost track of the number of babies who had slept in it.

Inside, they found that Rebecca, Susanna and Aunt Jezebel had gone on to bed. Someone had turned off the propane lamp, leaving just the antique kerosene lantern burning on the kitchen table. Mam passed Jonah to Leah. “Give his face and hands a lick and a promise and tuck him in while we put Katy to bed. Then we’ll all have some of that pie and buttermilk.”

Jonah’s eyes were heavy-lidded and it was clear to see that he was on the verge of falling asleep. “Let’s just get this hat and jacket off you,” Leah said. “Aunt Rebecca’s already in bed. Let’s surprise her.”

“Go with your Aunt Leah like a big boy,” Johanna said to the child. “And in the morning, I’ll make you something special for breakfast.”

Jonas murmured something and Leah carried him upstairs, first to the bathroom, and then to the bedroom she shared with Rebecca. Her sister had left a lamp burning, and she sat up when Leah entered the room. “Who have you got there?” she asked teasingly. “It can’t be our Jonah.”

“Ya.”
He yawned. “It’s Jonah.”

Rebecca met Leah’s gaze, obviously curious, but Leah shrugged. “Johanna brought the children to spend the night with us,” she said. “I suppose we’ll know why in the morning. Or not.”

Rebecca put out her arms, and Leah tucked him in under the quilt beside her sister. The boy’s curly hair, exactly the same shade as Rebecca’s, mingled with hers on the white pillowcase. “He smells sweet,” Leah said. “Like pumpkin pie.”

“Do not,” Jonah said, but he giggled sleepily.

Leah smiled at him. He was an adorable child, good-natured, and independent, for four. Whenever she saw Jonah, she couldn’t help thinking what it would be like to have a little boy or girl just like him someday. “Make sure he says his prayers,” she reminded Rebecca. And then she blew out the lamp and made her way back downstairs in the semidarkness.

As she neared the kitchen doorway, Leah heard Johanna say, “I pray for him, Mam. I think his is a troubled soul.”

Leah couldn’t make out Mam’s reply, but it was obvious that her mother was concerned. As she entered the room, Johanna broke off in midsentence and glanced at her. That was when Leah saw the large purple bruise on her sister’s left cheekbone.

Leah’s chest tightened. “How did you get that bruise on your face?” she demanded, but she had a sinking feeling that she already knew.

Her sister’s marriage to moody Wilmer Detweiler had been a rocky one from the start, and Leah could never understand why Johanna had accepted his proposal. The church taught that members of a congregation were all one family and should love each other like brothers and sisters, but Leah had never taken to Wilmer.

From the first, Johanna and Wilmer had struggled financially, and difficult pregnancies with both children put even more strain on the relationship. On several occasions, there had been discord, followed by disturbing incidents between Johanna and Wilmer, such as Wilmer’s public complaints about his wife and his rough-handedness with her. It was a sensitive subject, because marital relationships were considered private, to be kept within the home, and Johanna never complained.

A husband was expected to be the head of the family, to command respect, but physical abuse directed toward a wife—toward anyone—was not permitted by the Amish. A marriage was supposed to be a partnership. Any type of violence went against their teachings.

Shamed by the difficulties between her and her husband, Johanna had tried to hide her injuries. Eventually, Mam had found out and confronted Wilmer. And when he rejected her intervention, Mam had reported Johanna’s plight to the elders of the church. Samuel, as deacon, and other members of the congregation had taken him to task, and the family had hoped that the trouble was in the past.

But if Wilmer had struck Johanna again, the old problems had resurfaced, making Leah frightened for her sister’s safety. “Was it Wilmer?” Leah asked. “Did he hit you?”

“
Ne,
an accident.” Johanna averted her gaze, making Leah certain that her sister was protecting her husband.

Unconsciously, Leah’s fingers balled into fists at her sides. This wasn’t the fun-loving and confident big sister she’d always counted on. Leah’s heart ached for her. “Oh, Johanna,” she said. “How could he?”

“I said it was an accident,” her sister repeated. “I was getting some jars of peaches out of the cupboard and one fell and…” She looked up through moist lashes. “Just peaches,” she finished softly.

“Peaches, my foot!” Leah threw her arms around Johanna and hugged her tightly. “We should call the police. Wilmer should be locked up.”

“Ne, ne.”
Johanna pulled out of Leah’s embrace, covered her face with her hands, and began to sob. “No English.” She shook her head. “No police. It’s not our way.”

“She’s right,” Mam put in. “We do not involve the English in our troubles.”

“But we’ve tried
our
way,” Leah argued. “Wilmer promised that it would never happen again. And now it has!”

“Hush.” Mam raised a finger to her lips. “This is Johanna’s business. Best you not trouble her further tonight. She’s here with us, and she’s safe—”

“Until morning!” Leah retorted. “And then what? Wilmer will come for her, and she’ll go with him like the last time?”

“He will be better tomorrow,” Johanna said. “It was his headache again. Katy has been fussy all day, and Wilmer couldn’t sleep. He has terrible headaches. I know not to vex him when he’s in pain, but I lost my temper when he scolded Jonah for spilling his milk. It was my fault. It’s a father’s duty to teach his children proper behavior.”

“You can’t go on making excuses for him,” Leah said. She couldn’t take her gaze off Johanna’s hands. Although her sister had only recently turned twenty-five, her slender hands were red and calloused from doing hard labor and looked as though they belonged to a much older woman. “We’ll send word to Samuel and the church elders,” Leah insisted. “They’ll—”

“Ne.”
Johanna shook her head even harder. “If you shame Wilmer, it will be worse for me and the children. Pray for him. He’s a good man weighed down by ill health and misfortune.”

“I don’t think he is a good man.” Leah’s words came out in a rush. “I think he’s lazy—and a bully.”

“Enough, Leah,” Mam said. “Maybe you should go on to bed. Praying for Wilmer would be the best thing you can do for Johanna and for the children right now. God’s power to change hearts is greater than ours.”

“Mam, we’re past the point of prayer. Your daughter and grandchildren are in danger. Why are you not more upset about this?” Leah settled her hands on her hips. “She should leave him and come home for good.”

Johanna wiped the tears from her face. “He is my husband, Leah. If I leave the marriage, I break a contract I made before God. We’re not English. I cannot break up a family because we have differences.”

“Differences?” Leah motioned to the bruise on Johanna’s cheek. “What would you do if he struck Katy like that? Would you stand by and watch him do her permanent harm?”

“Wilmer’s never laid a hand on Katy in anger,” Johanna said. “You should know I would never allow my children to remain in danger. As for me, I can take care of myself. And it’s unfair to call him lazy. His trade is a hard one, especially in bad weather.”

“I’m sure he is a good carpenter—when he works,” Leah said. “How many days was he off this past winter?”

“Construction is slow. It’s not Wilmer’s fault if—”

“It’s his fault if he’s home and still abed while you’re out feeding the sheep and turkeys. Or hoeing the garden. Lots of Amish men work forty hours outside the home and then come home and tend the farm. Wilmer leaves the house, the bees, the poultry and the livestock to you. Not to mention the quilts you sew or the canned jams and jellies you sell to the English.”

“Leah.” Her mother’s tone grew sharp. “I won’t ask you again to leave us. You’re not helping your sister. She needs time to think, to decide for herself the right thing to do. You cannot make such decisions for her, and neither can I. You’re young. You don’t—”

“I may be young, but I know right from wrong,” Leah insisted. “I think Wilmer’s dangerous, and I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to Johanna or either of the children.”

“None of us could,” her mother said.

Leah sighed and hung her head. “I’m sorry, Mam. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful to you.”

“I know you didn’t,” Mam said. “We’ll talk in the morning, after Johanna has had time to pray and to consider her options.”

“All right.” Swallowing the arguments she wanted to make, Leah left the kitchen and started up the wide stairs to her bedroom. But the unspoken words echoed in her mind.
What Wilmer’s doing is wrong, and if neither of you will do anything to stop him, I will.

* * *

But there was no time to speak to her mother about Johanna’s abusive husband the following morning. Apparently, Mam and Johanna had stayed up late into the night, and Johanna and the baby were still sleeping in when the rest of the family gathered around the table for breakfast. This was
Grossmama
’s senior center day, and she was too excited to have more than a cup of black coffee before the bus arrived to pick her up.

“We have breakfast and lunch there,” her grandmother said loudly. “On trays. Fruit and waffles, bacon and eggs. But not real eggs. They taste funny. And
decaffeinated
coffee.”
Grossmama
wrinkled her nose in disgust. “What good is that? I make them give me tea.” She scowled at Irwin. “Where are my bags?”

“On’na porch,” the boy said.

The rug-making supplies that her grandmother was looking for were in two old-fashioned carpet bags, and it was Irwin’s job to lug them out to the gate so that the driver could stow them in the back of the bus. “Irwin carried them out for you,” Leah soothed. “Just as he always does.” She threw Irwin a sympathetic glance. He ducked his head and slurped his milk.

“I don’t trust him. Beachys all have sneaky eyes.”

“Irwin has the eyes God gave him,” Mam said, smiling at Irwin. “And they serve him well, now that he has new glasses.”

Grossmama
scrunched up her face and picked at the single black hair on her chin. “The bus is late. It’s always late.”

“It’s not time yet,” Leah said. “The bus doesn’t come until seven-thirty.”

Despite her complaints, Leah knew that her grandmother enjoyed the experience because she complained even more when the center was closed for the holidays. Her grandmother was the first Old Amish woman in Kent County to attend a program for older English people. Anna had been instrumental in convincing the church elders that it was in
Grossmama
’s best interest to allow her to attend Maple Leaf.

This was apparently one of her grandmother’s good days, because, even though she was grumbling, her fussing made sense. Of course,
Grossmama
was always sharper in the morning. She rarely asked where Dat was before noon. He’d been her only son, and most days—although he’d been dead and buried for three years—
Grossmama
was positive that he was in the barn milking the cows and would be in any moment.

Leah poured coffee for her grandmother and found the black high-top athletic shoes and long black sports socks with the orange basketballs that her grandmother insisted on wearing to the center along with her traditional black dress, cape and bonnet.

“Have a good day,” Leah said as she finished tying
Grossmama
’s shoelaces. “I have to go to Anna’s now.”

“Why isn’t Anna here? It’s not decent, an unmarried girl out of the house all night. She wasn’t here at supper, either.”

“Anna’s in her husband’s home,” Leah reminded gently. “She married Samuel, and I’m going to help with the children and the washing.”