by Marta Perry
“My aunt, of course. She loves it when I go out, so she can be the boss.” Joanna slid down from the buggy seat, brown eyes smiling, looking as capable and in control as she always had, even when they were young. They were the best of friends, along with Rachel Hurst—the Threes, people had called them.
Funny, in a way, that they were the only three from their rumspringa group to remain unmarried. The three maidals, she supposed they were now.
“I’m wonderful glad you could be here.” There wasn’t time to say more, because Lizzie was approaching.
“I’ll be going,” she said abruptly. “Now that you have your friend to help.”
“Denke, Lizzie. I appreciate your assistance.”
Lizzie acknowledged the words with a slight nod and marched off toward the road, the shortest way home for her.
Joanna gave her a speaking glance. “Why does she always look as if she’s sucking on a pickle when she talks to you?”
Cathy’s lips twitched. “Hush, she might hear you.”
“Nonsense. She’s too busy thinking up a complaint because you have another unmarried woman to help you instead of a mother.”
“Ach, Joanna, I don’t think she’d say that.” She shook her head. “Anyway, she was concerned that I let the scholars out at recess, but what else could I do? We can’t let them live in fear.”
If Joanna had any doubts about that, she didn’t voice them. Instead she nodded toward the path that opened onto the far side of the school yard. “Are you expecting someone else to show up?”
A quick glance reassured Cathy. “Some of the fathers have arranged to stop by a few times during the day. Lige Esch...”
Then the man stepped into the open. He wore typically Amish garb—black pants, blue shirt, straw hat—but it wasn’t Lige. It was Michael Forster. Michael, dressed Amish. Did that mean...
She cut off the thought, knowing she shouldn’t speculate about what Michael intended to do. He had enough of that from everyone else. Good intentions or not, she couldn’t deny that the sight threw her off balance. Somehow it was easier to keep him at a distance when he looked and seemed so Englisch.
Joanna didn’t share her scruples—she was staring at Michael with an open question in her face. Cathy nudged her.
“It’s Allie’s father. He must be doing the rounds this morning.”
Michael was headed straight toward them. Apparently he didn’t intend to look around unobtrusively and leave, the way Lige had.
When he reached them, he was looking at the playing children, frowning a little. “I see you’re having recess—”
“If you think they should stay inside, that would do more harm than good.” Joanna spoke before Cathy could, automatically moving into the leadership position she’d always taken.
Michael’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “I wasn’t going to say that.” He shifted his gaze to Cathy. “I wanted to ask if Allie seems okay.”
Relieved, Cathy nodded. “I’ve kept an eye on her—on all of them, of course. She’s quiet, but she doesn’t seem fearful, and they’re playing normally.” She glanced toward Allie, in a threesome now with Ruthie and Mary Louise.
“Good.” Only then did he turn back to Joanna. “Should I remember you?”
Apparently deciding in his favor, Joanna smiled. “Probably not. I was one of the small fry, like Cathy. I’m Joanna Kohler.”
“Sorry. I guess you’re the teacher’s helper for today.”
“Part of it anyway.” She turned. “I’d best earn my keep, so I’ll check on the scholars and leave you two alone.” She moved off before Cathy could protest that they didn’t need to be alone.
A quick glance told her that Michael looked amused.
“A good friend of yours, I see.”
“She is, but what makes you say that?” She took a firm grip on herself, determined that the unexpected sight of Michael in Amish clothing wasn’t going to unsettle her.
“She’s quick in your defense.”
“That’s Joanna, all right.” Her brief tension dissolved. “So what is this?” She gestured toward the pants and shirt.
“Funny thing—these clothes just appeared on the peg in my room a few days ago.”
She had to smile. “Your aunt Verna being tactful?”
“Probably. Although my sister probably had a hand in it. I think these belonged to Lige.”
A few days ago—so he hadn’t decided immediately to put them on. “What made you...” She closed her lips on the question, remembering her determination not to get too close.
“What made me decide to wear them today?” He frowned a little, his gaze moving over the children again. “After yesterday, it just seemed right. Anyway, it’ll make Aunt Verna and Sarah happy.”
“Yah, it will. And Allie, I think.”
He didn’t want to delve any deeper into his reasons, she realized. She couldn’t pretend, even to herself, that she knew the answers where Michael was concerned, but she could almost see him change over the short time he’d been back among them. This wasn’t the same bitter, withdrawn man she’d met that first day.
“I’m forgetting what I need to ask you,” he said. “Would it be possible for you to walk Allie home today? Aunt Verna says you usually take the path that goes right by her place.”
“Yah, for sure. I’ll be happy to walk with Allie.” Happier than he knew. This might be the chance she’d been seeking to get to know the little girl behind the mask. “We can make it a regular routine, if you want. I walk when the weather is nice, but even if I bring the buggy, I can drop her off.”
“Good.” He wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was scanning the perimeter of the school yard, obviously alert for any problems.
“It will be a few minutes later than usual,” she reminded him. “After the rest of the scholars leave, I’ll need to collect the work I’m taking home.”
“Right.” He brought his attention back to her. “I’m grateful.” He smiled, brown eyes warming in a way that was disturbing to her composure. “Lige and I are starting work on rebuilding a section of one of the greenhouses, and afternoons are the best time for him.”
“Verna will appreciate that. She always thinks she needs more space for growing her flowers.”
It was probably good for him, too, although she wouldn’t say that out loud. A man needed to feel he had useful work to do, surely. From what Verna had said, he’d had his own construction company back before all the trouble. Rebuilding his aunt’s greenhouse might be a comedown from owning a business, but at least it was a start.
“Yeah, she does.” Michael seemed to lose some of the lighthearted feeling of his last words. “Sarah and Lige will take over the nursery business one day, of course, but I want to help. I have to do something.”
It was an echo of her own thoughts, making her wonder how much he missed the life and business he’d had back in Harrisburg. And how quickly he’d go back to it if he had a choice.
“There’s always work around here for a good builder. Maybe rebuilding the greenhouse will lead to other jobs. There’s nothing like word of mouth to let folks know you’re available.”
He studied her face for a long moment—so long that she began to wonder if she’d said something wrong. Then he shook his head.
“You’re an optimist, Teacher Cathy. It’s hard to imagine that many people will want to hire me. Not when the Amish see me as an outsider and the Englisch think I’m a murderer.”
His expression tore at her heart. “Don’t say that—don’t even think it. Everyone doesn’t feel that way. Give people a chance and they might surprise you.”
“Like I said, an optimist. I wish I could believe you were right.”
* * *
MICHAEL DECIDED IT felt right to have a hammer in his hand again. He’d been away from work too long. “I’ll be getting soft if I don’t g
et back to work again. Let’s get at it.”
Lige had his usual amiable grin. He buckled on his tool belt. “Once we make sure these uprights are in good shape, it’ll move along fast.”
“If they are.” He squatted beside the corner post to check it. “Looks like the drainage worked fine. Did Aunt Verna always use the gravel floor? I don’t remember.”
“Yah, that was Onkel Samuel’s idea. This is the one he built first, Aunt Verna says, and it’s still in pretty good shape except for that one corner.”
Michael nodded, moving on to the next upright. “A lot of glass has to be replaced. That could get expensive.”
“I got a deal.” Lige grinned. “There’s a guy over toward Bellefonte taking down some old greenhouses, and he sold it to me cheap. We’ll just have to get someone with a truck to go along and pick it up.”
“A truck with decent suspension,” Michael amended. “Some of the rattletraps you see around here couldn’t carry a jug of water without breaking it.”
“Yah, that’s for sure.” Lige hefted the first crosspiece they’d need to put in. “Phil Maggio’s the guy for the job. We’ll have to do the loading and unloading, but he’ll drive.”
“Sounds like you have it all figured out. Are you sure you need me?”
“This is a two-man job, ain’t so? Anyway, you’re the construction guy, not me.”
Satisfied, he lifted one end of the piece into place, holding it steady for Michael.
By the time a half hour had passed, Michael realized they’d picked up each other’s rhythm, working along steadily without any needless hitches. He wouldn’t have minded having Lige working on his crew, back when he’d had a crew.
When they stopped for a drink of water, Michael brought up the subject of the clothes he was wearing. “Guess I should be careful not to mess up these pants. They are yours, yah?”
“Were,” Lige corrected. “Like Sarah pointed out, I put on a few pounds around the middle the last couple of years. I figure it’s her fault for being such a gut cook, ain’t so?”
Michael nodded, smiling. It looked to him as if his sister had done fine in picking a husband without his advice. “If you lose the weight, I’ll give the pants back for sure.”
“No chance.” Lige hesitated. “You know, I stopped by the hardware store this morning. Seems like everyone in town heard about what happened at school yesterday.”
“They would.” His hand tightened momentarily. “You can’t keep something like that quiet.”
“No. I guess you wouldn’t want to. If the guy did mean harm, then everyone should be warned.” He worked quietly for a few minutes, but he seemed to have something more on his mind. “Sarah’s satisfied herself it was a tourist with a camera, so that’s best. Otherwise she wouldn’t have gotten any sleep at all.”
“You don’t think so?” He straightened, knowing Lige’s opinion would be of value.
“If it had been a woman, or even a man and woman together, it’d seem more natural. You don’t usually see a man doing that kind of stuff alone.”
“No, you don’t.” Lige might be slow to speak, but when he did, he usually had something sensible to say. “I thought about that, too. It still could be—a guy who’s crazy about photography maybe, wanting to get something different. But it’s odd all the same.”
“Yah.” Lige looked relieved—not at the conclusion, but at the fact that someone else saw it the way he did. “The patrols are fine, but we’d best be careful not to get onto a schedule.”
Michael nodded. “The more pairs of eyes the better. You know, though, I don’t think a stranger could spy on the schoolchildren very easily without being noticed. With the trees and the way the site is, I don’t think there’s any spot that overlooks it.”
“Yah, and someone trying to leave a car by the road would be noticed, like Cathy did the car yesterday. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to talk to the Campbells and the Warfields. They have those two houses down the road on the other side. Chief Jamison probably talked to them about yesterday, but we could ask them to keep an eye out in future.”
“Right. I don’t remember them, but...”
“I’ll do it,” Lige said. “They know me.”
“They don’t know me.” His mouth twisted on the words. “But I’d bet they’ve heard of me. They wouldn’t want me ringing their doorbell.”
Lige considered that for a moment, pondering the way he did every new idea. “Could be, I guess. I don’t know what the Englisch are thinking.”
“Whatever Diana’s family thinks,” he said wryly.
“Not many left here now. There’s her brother, Bernard. He runs the family business. Has a wife, but no kids.”
Michael nodded. He remembered Bernard. Much older than Diana, he’d been furious at her for stepping so far out of line when she’d married Michael. Diana had contemptuously called his wife, Janet, a “yes, dear” type of wife.
“What about Diana’s grandmother?” He’d been reluctant to ask, thinking of his only encounter with the formidable old woman who’d run the firm and the family with an iron hand. She’d made him feel about as valuable as an ant she’d step on. Once Diana had married him, she had cut her off entirely.
“She’s in that rest home place—Maple Crest, it’s called. It’s out the Sunbury Road. Big, expensive, costs a fortune to stay there, so I’ve heard. Randy Hunter runs it.”
“Does he really?” Somehow he wasn’t surprised. Randy had always struck him as one to hang out where there was wealth. Diana would have been the ultimate prize for him—the princess her grandmother adored and everyone admired. But the princess had picked Michael. And then stepped on him.
He shook away the ugly thoughts and checked the time. “Seems like Allie should be getting home about now. Cathy said it might take her a few minutes after the kids left, but it’s been more than that.”
Lige straightened, stretching his back. “Go on, walk up the path and meet her. I could stand a break.”
Michael didn’t need urging. The fear generated by the previous day’s episode lurked under the surface of his thoughts, but not far. It was ready to erupt at the slightest hint of trouble.
Not that it meant trouble just because Cathy was a few minutes later than he’d anticipated. Still, he strode swiftly along the path, eyes straining ahead for a glimpse of movement or color.
There—not far ahead of him he could see a bit of blue the color of the dress Cathy had on at school. But it wasn’t moving. Heart accelerating, he broke into a run. If something had happened—
He came around the bend where the trees thinned out to brush and berry brambles, and his heart took a leap and then settled into its regular pace. His step slowed, too, then even more when Cathy spotted him and gestured for him to move slowly.
She was kneeling at the edge of some leafy brush, Allie standing pressed against her while they both watched something intently. Michael wanted nothing so much as to run to them and grab Allie in a huge hug, but he hoped he had better sense. Nothing would make Allie fearful more than seeing that her father was.
So he strolled to them at an easy pace, hoping he wasn’t scaring away whatever had them so entranced. “What is it?” he murmured, but then he realized that the yellow spots he’d taken for blossoms were actually butterflies—hundreds of them, it seemed, clustering on the low shrubs that grew along a damp bank.
“Look, Daadi,” Allie whispered. “Teacher Cathy says they are tiger...” She hesitated and looked at Cathy.
“Tiger swallowtails.” Cathy supplied the words. “Because their wings are shaped like a swallow’s tail.”
“And they’re colored like a tiger,” Allie explained. “See?”
“You’re right.” He squatted next to her. “I’ve never seen so many at one time.”
“I haven’t either. I think Allie must be very fortunate, because she spotted
them.”
“I did.” Allie’s smile was bigger than he’d seen in a long time, and his heart lurched.
He couldn’t find any words, so he didn’t try. He just squatted next to them. They watched the butterflies, and he watched their faces. Cathy had her arm around Allie’s waist, and Allie leaned against her, probably unconscious of how much trust she was showing.
The butterflies began lifting a little higher from the bushes, darting and swooping. They were above Allie’s head, and she looked up at them as they formed a yellow cloud of constant movement. Her face was filled with delight. If he could capture this moment, keep it to look at in coming years, maybe he could hold on to just a little of it.
Cathy, her voice still low, was pointing out to Allie how the butterflies were moving farther, as if they were exploring. Did butterflies hear? He had no idea, but her soft words fit the magic of the moment. If anything could wipe away the traces of anger and fear since yesterday, this must be it.
There was so much tenderness in Cathy’s face as she talked to Allie, and he realized that Allie was soaking it up the way a plant soaked up sunshine. His heart twisted again. How much tenderness had she received from her mother?
Diana had loved her, of course she had. But had that automatically meant she was a good mother to Allie?
He certainly hadn’t done anything to make up for whatever lack there had been. He’d been blind, it seemed to him now, and he was still paying for that. But it seemed unfair that Allie should pay as well.
Cathy moved slightly, probably stiff from kneeling so long. He held out a hand to her. “Need a little help getting up?”
“I guess I’d better—get up, I mean.” She looked as regretful as Allie did. “I should be getting home. And Aunt Verna will be wondering where you are.” She put her hand lightly on Allie’s head.
“I get to tell her about the butterflies. And tomorrow I can tell Ruthie.” She grabbed Michael’s hand. “You’ll let me tell, won’t you, Daadi?”
He smiled, as much at the mix of English and Pennsylvania Dutch she’d begun using as at the request. “I won’t say a word. After all, you’re the one who spotted them. The butterflies are your story.”