Reflection (14 page)

That her grandmother felt trapped by her infirmities was all too obvious. When Rachel started bringing flowers into the house, it was as if she'd given her grandmother the stars and the moon. Gram would hobble from room to room just to look at them. That's when Rachel decided to take her out. First they drove, traveling through the farmland, Gram opening her window fully to breathe in the barnyard scent Rachel remembered from her childhood but had not yet adjusted to as an adult. They drove through neighboring villages, Gram telling her about friends from the past who had lived on this street or that. Rachel slowly realized that, although her grandmother had a wealth of acquaintances, her close friends, her intimates, had all died, many of them within the past couple of years.

It wasn't until they were preparing to take their second such drive that Rachel seized upon the idea of a wheelchair. She found a rental place in Lancaster, picked up the wheelchair, tossed it into the trunk, and took it along on their drive. Once they reached the wooded area where she had gathered many of the flowers for the house, she pulled out the chair, helped Gram into it, and wheeled her—with effort—down the packed-earth path through trees and fields and the muted colors of summer wildflowers.

The path was a little bumpy, but Gram insisted she didn't mind. They were very quiet as they moved through the woods, quiet enough that they saw a fox when they rounded one bend, and a deer and her fawn when they rounded another. At one point Gram reached up to squeeze Rachel's hand where it was locked around the handle of the chair.

“This is a gift, Rachel,” she said. “Thank you.”

And at that moment the flat little word love took on more dimensions than Rachel could count.

She wanted to ask her grandmother about people's reactions to what had happened in her classroom, but there seemed to be an unspoken agreement between them to keep things light. That was probably good. Gram's home could remain her refuge.

The hairdresser, Lily, had shocked her when she'd admitted to having been in her class. Rachel had remembered the little girl instantly, even though her twin sister and the other children in the class remained a blur. She remembered Lily because from day one she'd known that child was going to be her challenge. A little blond devil. If she asked the class to do something, Lily would argue against it or simply set about doing something else. Rachel even recalled discussing her with one of the more seasoned teachers on the staff. How do you deal with a recalcitrant seven-year-old? Now Lily was the lovely, chatty, capable, and kind owner of a hair salon. Rachel had liked her immediately. She was one of those people who offered instant comfort, instant trust.

People might be hard on you here
, Lily had said. Rachel had thought of the incident in the bakery and had nearly opened her mouth to tell Lily what had happened. But that would not be fair, she thought. Lily had lost her sister in that classroom.
Damn
.

Since that day in the bakery, though, no one had said a negative word to her. She'd gone into town three times, twice to the grocery store and once to the music store on Main Street. The grocery store was large, and she'd had a pleasant sense of anonymity there. She'd talked with the cashier about the artichokes she was buying, explaining how to cook them, how to eat them, relishing the everyday nature of the conversation. The cashier had been as friendly as she could be. Of course, she hadn't known Rachel's identity. Maybe that wouldn't have made a difference. Lily had known, and she had not cared.

In the music store she'd bought five CD's of contemporary music she wanted to share with her grandmother. The cashier, a middle-aged woman, had not been particularly warm, but neither had she been rude or told her not to come back. Still, Rachel had felt her face burning with irrational guilt the whole time the sale was being rung up, and she paid with cash rather than her credit card so the woman would not discover who she was.

Gram had loved the music, and from the kitchen Rachel could hear that she had selected one of the new CD's to play this morning.

It was nearly nine-thirty when Michael arrived. Rachel was straightening her bedroom when she heard him call through the front screen door, “Any Huber women here?”

She walked into the living room and opened the door for him. He was wearing that grin, the grin she'd loved as a child and adored as an adult.

“Hey,” he said. “How's my favorite heathen?”

“Good.” She smiled. “And how was Philadelphia?”

“Excellent.” He touched her arm lightly as he stepped past her to buss her grandmother's cheek. The older woman had hobbled into the room on her cane.

“How you doin', Helen?” he asked. “Where's that chair Rachel said she got you?”

“In the car. I'm not going to use it in the house, for heaven's sake. That thing scares me.” Gram shuddered. “Every time I get in it, I have to get myself right out again just to prove to myself I'm not stuck in it for good. Do you know what I mean?”

“Hmm.” Michael nodded. “I think so.”

“If I ever get to the point where I can't get out, promise me you'll come over and put me out of my misery, all right?”

Rachel started to laugh, but Michael's serious expression stopped her. “I'd do whatever I could for you, Helen,” he said.

There was a bond between these two people, Rachel thought. Somewhere over the years their paths had crossed with some meaning she didn't understand. She felt insignificant at that moment, unconnected to either of them.

Michael turned his attention to her. “If I see one more piece of drywall ever again, it'll be too soon,” he said.

“How was it?” Rachel asked.

“Good experience,” he said. “The kids are working hard. They're getting to meet the families they're helping, and I think that really makes the difference.” He winked at Gram. “But I'm ready for a little outside work now.”

Gram raised her cane in a salute. “I'm going to get my hat and sit out on the porch to watch you do it,” she said.

Rachel offered to get the hat for her, but Gram shook her head and walked back to her bedroom. Michael followed her with his eyes. “She's getting around better than I expected,” he said.

Rachel looked at him curiously. “You two seem to know each other very well,” she said.

He nodded. “Yeah, we do.”

“How?”

“She hasn't told you?”

She shook her head.

He glanced toward Gram's bedroom. “Well, everyone in Reflection knows everyone else,” he said.

Rachel didn't think that was the complete answer. Michael went outside to set the ladder in place, and Rachel opened all the front windows of the house so they could hear the music as they worked in the yard. The second CD—
Patchwork
—was playing by the time she got out to the garden. Michael was already standing on the ladder working on one of the higher branches, and Gram supervised them both from her roost on the porch. It was difficult for the three of them to talk with the physical distance between them, but it didn't matter. The music poured over them, and Rachel felt a complete sort of contentment. Her hands in the earth, two people she loved close by, her grandfather's music putting her into a trance.

They took a break from the yard work around eleven. Rachel had made lemonade and her mother's poppy seed bread, a recipe she'd kept tucked away in her memory all these years. She'd picked the very last of the strawberries from the garden, and she and Michael nibbled on them as they sat on the porch steps, their backs against opposing posts so they could look up at Gram.

“So, Michael,” Gram said, “how is the land fight going?”

“Don't know. The hearing is September sixth, and we're trying to get as many people to show up as we can. Drew and I have been collecting signatures—by the way, I have the petition in my car if you're willing.”

Gram nodded. “Of course. I wish I could be out there pounding the pavement with you. Let me know if there's some way I can help.”

“Even got quite a few people from the Old Order groups to sign.”

“Are you catching some flak about having Drew Albrecht in on this?” Gram asked.

“A bit, but I think it's a plus to have a developer on our side against the Hostetters.”

Rachel shaded her eyes as she looked up at her grandmother. “Michael said Marielle Hostetter was shot in the head by her mother.” She waited for confirmation of the bizarre story.

Gram looked out to the trees, and it was a minute before she answered. “Yes,” she said. “Her mother went a little crazy one day and shot Marielle, who was four at the time, and her husband, and then herself. The husband lived of course, just got the bullet in his arm, which put a long break in his career as a painter.”

“Why do you think she did it?” Michael asked.

“Who knows what would make a woman do a thing like that?”

“I didn't know Marielle's father was a painter,” Rachel said.

“Oh, yes. A very bright and talented man. You know that painting above the sofa?”

Rachel pictured it instantly, the view of snow-wrapped Reflection from Winter Hill. “That's his?” she asked.

Gram nodded. “Yes, it is. He gave it to Peter. They were friends, the two eccentric artsy types in the community. He would be appalled to see that piece of property ruined. It inspired most of his work.” She looked down at Michael. “Your cousin must be thrilled, though.”

Michael groaned. “Don't rub in my relationship to her, all right, Helen?”

“I don't get it,” Rachel said. “Who's your cousin?”

“Ursula Torwig,” Michael said. “Our mayor.”

“Oh!” She had not made the connection. The country cousin, they used to call her. Ursula's family had lived outside of Reflection on a pig farm. “Wow. She's come a long way.”

“Too far, if you ask me,” Michael said.

Gram yawned and rose slowly to her feet. “Well, you two, I think I'm going to take a short nap.”

Michael stood up to help her into the house, but she brushed his hand away.

“Do you want a pain pill?” Rachel offered.

“No, thanks. I want a nap, that's it.”

Rachel followed her into the bedroom and closed the curtains against the bright sunshine.

“Oh, I forgot to give Michael the check,” Gram said, once she'd settled herself beneath the covers. “It's in my purse in the kitchen. I made it out to the church, of course. He'd never take it for himself. Will you give it to him, please?”

“Sure.”

She found her grandmother's purse in the kitchen, but the first thing her hand touched when she reached inside it was a clear plastic bag. She drew the bag out to see that it contained sprigs of dried herbs. She sniffed them and knew they were cuttings from the herbs Gram had asked her to buy. Odd, she thought as she slipped the bag back into the purse. Was it a superstition of some sort, or did she simply like the scent?

She found the check and carried it out to the porch, handing it to Michael as she took her seat against the pillar again.

“Thanks.” He didn't bother to glance at the check before sticking it into his shirt pocket. “How about a bike ride tomorrow?” he asked. “It would have to be late in the day. Sundays are busy for me.”

“I'd love it.” She hugged her knees in anticipation. She hadn't ridden in several days.

They talked about their bikes for a while, and she quickly realized that he was as fanatical about cycling as she was. They had even bought the same top-of-the-line model.

“I didn't realize a Mennonite would have such fancy material possessions,” she teased him.

He laughed. “Oh, we have them all right. We just feel guilty about it.”

“Do you have a TV? A VCR?”

“Absolutely. And more photography equipment than any human being has a right to.”

“Really?” Her mind started clicking. “Do you do your own developing?”

“Black-and-white, yes.”

“Maybe you can help me, then,” she said. “Someone donated all this photography equipment to my school. There are cameras and enlargers and trays and chemicals and all sorts of stuff. I think it would be great to use it with my special-ed kids, but I don't know how.”

“Then this summer you will learn.” Michael smiled. “I use the darkroom at the high school. I have a key, so I can get in whenever I want. Do you have a camera with you?”

She shook her head.

“You can borrow one of mine. It'll be fun.” He grinned at her and leaned forward. “So,” he said, “when was the last time you went to Hershey Park?”

She smiled at the quick flood of memories. She could smell the park, the cotton candy and french fries, the oil they used to grease the rides. “It must have been…'69? With you and Luke and…some girl. Katy, maybe.”

“Maybe, though she and I didn't date that much in high school.”

Rachel had been to Hershey Park too many times to count, but she doubted she had ever been there without Luke.

“Can we go?” she ventured.

“I think we have to. It's changed a lot since you were last there, though.”

“Should we wait until Jason gets back and take him with us?” she suggested. “I'd love to meet him.”

“No.” He spoke with such force that she jumped. “You and I know we're just friends, Rache, but Jace is sort of…vulnerable right now. He misses Katy. He's not going to be comfortable seeing his dad strolling around with another woman.”

She nodded woodenly, trying to make sense of the sudden hurt in her chest. When she spoke, she selected her words with care. “I don't like feeling as though our friendship is something we have to hide,” she said.

He let out a sigh and picked at a splinter jutting from the top step. When he looked up at her, his grin had been replaced by a serious expression. “I need to be careful, Rache. Both because I still have feelings for you and because of how people would perceive seeing me with another woman while Katy's out of the country, even if that other woman is just an old friend.”