by Marta Perry
“Back that way?” He glanced back down the lane. “Okay, will do. Then what?”
“Turn left and drive about a half mile. It’ll be on your left. You’ll be able to see the greenhouses.”
Yes, of course he would. So if he’d come through town, he’d have passed it. He could hardly miss it. And if he’d come the other direction...the uneasiness surged back. He’d said something about getting directions at a gas station, but there wasn’t one in that direction for at least fifteen miles.
“So you’re neighbors, I guess.” He still wore that genial smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know the Forster family, do you?”
“We’re neighbors,” she said noncommittally, while her mind raced. Who was he? He wasn’t local... She felt more sure of that with every word he spoke. And she didn’t think he’d turned down their lane by mistake.
“I guess you know that Michael Forster has moved back, then. Has a little girl, I guess.” His gaze wandered to the canvas bag she carried, filled with schoolwork. “You wouldn’t be the teacher at the Amish school, would you?”
She sent a quick glance toward the house again. No one. She’d have to handle this herself. She could, she told herself firmly.
“Since you don’t seem to need more directions, you’ll have to excuse me. My parents are expecting me.”
Cathy turned away, but he moved quickly alongside her. “Some reason why you don’t want to answer my questions?”
“I don’t see any reason why I should.” She managed a tight smile. “Excuse me.”
“Hey, I’m just looking for information for a client of mine. No harm in that, is there?”
Feeling anything she said might be the wrong thing, Cathy kept walking, her lips pressed together as if any unwary word might escape. She knew who he was now. A private investigator, Michael had said. Poking around where he’d lived in Harrisburg. Only, now he was here.
“What’s Michael Forster up to? Does his daughter go to your school?”
Ignoring him as best she could, she marched on toward the house. If he followed her, started pestering Mamm and Daad with questions...
She risked a quick glance, but apparently he’d decided he’d done all he could. He stood still now, staring at her. Cathy pressed down the instinct to run to the door. Somehow it seemed important to behave normally.
But when she reached the kitchen, it took only one look for her mother to know something was wrong.
“Cathy, why are you so pale? Is it that hot out this afternoon? Maybe you should take the buggy to school from now on.”
Mamm fussed around, not giving her a chance to respond as she pushed Cathy into a chair and produced cold water and then urged a plate of chocolate chip cookies on her.
“I’m fine, Mamm. It’s all right. I’m just a little late, that’s all.”
“I saw a car out there. Who was it?” Mamm planted her hands on her hips.
She shrugged, trying to decide how to tell the truth without upsetting her. “A stranger. He wanted directions to Verna’s greenhouses, so I told him.”
Mamm eyed her. “That wouldn’t take so long. What else did he want?”
Nothing for it but the truth, then. “He tried to ask questions about Michael and Allie. Looking for gossip, it seemed like. I’d never talk to an outsider about one of my scholars, you know that.”
“Yah, of course.” Mamm patted her shoulder. “You did right. But it’s upsetting. Ever since Michael came back, it seems like things aren’t the same.”
The urge she felt to defend him startled Cathy with its strength, but she had to push it away. Doing so would just alarm Mamm to no good purpose.
“I’m sure folks will settle down. After all, we’ve had people return from living Englisch before. It just takes time and patience.”
Apparently she hadn’t been cautious enough, because Mamm’s blue eyes were still dark with concern.
“If he’s going to come back to the church, yah. But is he? Verna and I were talking, and all she’d say was that we had to wait for him to decide. But is he going to stay? If not, why would he come at all?”
Cathy rubbed her forehead. Good questions, but not ones she could answer. “I don’t know.” Maybe because he was fleeing pain and uncertainty and searching for peace?
Peace, it seemed, was in short supply with that private investigator around. And Michael didn’t know he was here. He had to be told, and it seemed she was the one to tell him.
* * *
MICHAEL STOOD AT the kitchen sink after supper. He and Aunt Verna had worked out a routine in the evening. He cleaned up the kitchen while she supervised Allie’s bath and getting ready for bed. She said, and he felt sure it was true, that it was a pleasure for her. He’d heard the lift in her voice at the prospect.
Once Allie was ready, he’d take his turn tucking her in, telling a story and just talking. Upstairs sound had moved from the bathroom to the bedroom, so he finished drying the last pan and headed up.
He stopped in the hallway, listening to their voices. Allie’s dialect was improving every day, and she always spoke Pennsylvania Dutch to Aunt Verna now, sometimes pausing to search for a word or substituting an English one. That was a good Amish custom—popping in an English word for one that had no Amish equivalent.
His mother’s face appeared in his mind, and he seemed to hear her voice, talking to his child. But that could never be. Would his life have been different if Mamm had lived? She’d always been able to soften Daad’s rough edges. And to soothe him down, now that he thought about it. Without her, they’d pulled apart, and there didn’t seem to be any way to bridge the gap. “Michael?” Aunt Verna appeared in the doorway. “Allie is all ready for bed.”
“Denke.” A simple thank-you wasn’t enough for all she was doing, but she patted his cheek with a work-roughened hand as she passed him.
Allie sat on top of the log cabin quilt on her bed—with its pattern of pink, rose and white rectangles, it looked designed especially for a little girl. He sat down next to her, and she snuggled up to him.
“Tell me a story, Daadi. Tell me a story about when you were my age.”
“When I was eight—hmm, I’ll have to think about that. Let me see.” Actually, the story popped into his mind without effort. He smiled. “How about one about your aunt Sarah and me, and the time we got lost in the dark?”
“Yah, that sounds good. Did you really get lost?” She looked up, her small face expressing concern.
“Not very lost.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “I was eight, so that means Aunt Sarah was seven, and I called her Sally.”
“Like the boppli,” she said, nodding.
“That’s right. Well, Sally and I had decided to build a hideout up in the woods. We wanted to cut some sticks to build it, so we borrowed Daad’s saw. It turned out to be a pretty nice hideout, and we played there the rest of the day. But then when we were going to bed, we remembered that we hadn’t brought the saw back down.”
“Was that bad?” She looked apprehensive.
“We hadn’t asked to use it, you see. So we’d be in trouble if he couldn’t find it.” Funny, that he could still remember that whispered conversation with Sally in her white nightgown, sitting up in her bed. “So we decided we’d better go and get it. It was dark, so we got a flashlight and slipped out of the house.” He could almost feel the clutch of Sally’s hand. She hadn’t let go of him the whole time.
“Everything looked different in the dark, especially when we got up to the woods. Sally started saying we were lost. She was almost crying when I finally spotted the hideout. So I grabbed the saw and we headed back down the hill. We kept hearing things...birds and mice and animals that come out at night. We got more and more scared and finally we started to run. We ran all the way down the hill and never stopped until we got safely home.”
“Did your daa
di ever find out what you did?”
“We never were very good at keeping a secret, so finally we told him. We had to go to bed early three nights in a row, but I think he figured going up to the woods in the dark was punishment enough.”
She nodded, seeming satisfied. “Are you still scared to go in the woods at night?”
He sincerely hoped he hadn’t set her up for a bad dream. “No, not a bit. It’s kind of fun after dark. Sometimes you might see an owl or even a fox.”
“I’d like to make a hideout.” She yawned, rubbing her eyes. “I’ll tell Ruthie. Maybe we can make one.”
“Climb under the covers, and you can have a dream about a hideout of your own.”
Allie slid under the quilt, contented, and he bent to kiss her good-night, his heart flooding with love. She was safe and happy, and he would keep her that way.
He went downstairs, finding Aunt Verna settled in her favorite rocking chair with her mending. “Komm, sit,” she said.
“I will, but I’ll go take a walk around the greenhouses and outbuildings first. Make sure everything is secure.”
She nodded, smiling. “Gut.”
It was still light outside, though the sun was heading toward the horizon. Days were longer now, and people still dropped by the greenhouse after supper sometimes.
He walked slowly around the greenhouses, checking the doors. It was very quiet, and the peace seemed to seep into him. The strain and despair he’d felt after Alan’s call were gone. This place was a sanctuary. If anything could restore him, this would.
Michael rounded the corner of the greenhouse he and Lige had been working on and stopped. Cathy sat on the bench against the wall, very still, very peaceful. She had a dreaming attitude, as if unaware of her surroundings. Peace—there was that word again. Cathy’s slim figure leaned gracefully against the rough wooden back, and the slant of the setting sun turned her hair to gold.
The face that could quicken with laughter or melt into tenderness showed a serenity he didn’t want to disturb, but she must be here waiting for him. For several moments he delayed speaking, but then the smallest unwary movement made enough noise to penetrate her absorption.
Cathy swung around, her face springing into life—into a moment of joy that disappeared almost before it registered. But he’d seen it. He put it away to consider later as she became grave.
“Michael. I thought you’d come out again.”
“Why didn’t you come to the house?” He sat down next to her, making the bench creak.
“I thought you’d be putting Allie to bed.” She smiled. “You wouldn’t appreciate my coming in and getting her all excited, would you?”
“We’re always glad to see you.” His voice was warmer than he’d intended it to be.
She shrugged. “It seemed better to wait. I’d have come to the house in a few minutes, but I’d rather talk to you without anyone else around.”
“Something’s wrong.” He came to the obvious conclusion. “Tell me.”
She hesitated, and he realized that whatever it was, was something she thought would hurt him.
“Out with it.” He covered her hand with his and felt it warm under his touch.
“You told me earlier about the private investigator your friend said had been asking questions where you used to live.” She took a deep breath, as if to arm herself against hurt. “He’s here.”
“Who?” He felt off balance.
“The private investigator. At least, I think that’s who it must have been. He didn’t actually say that, but I thought so. Maybe I’m wrong.” Hope flared briefly in her face.
He gave her hand a squeeze. “Just tell me what happened. Where did you see this man?”
“Sorry.” She managed a brief smile. “That wasn’t very coherent, was it? I’ll try to do better. When I went home this afternoon, I saw a car coming down our lane. The driver stopped, wanting to talk to me.”
He was frowning now, not liking the sound of this. “About what?”
“First he acted as if he’d become lost. He wanted directions.” She gestured around them. “To the greenhouse.”
“I see. Not a local, then.” Anyone local would have known where they were without asking.
“No. I’d never seen him before. He was very friendly, wanting to chat, but he made me feel uncomfortable. As if there was something else going on.”
Alarm threaded through him. “Did he threaten you?” He clasped her hand in both of his.
“Nothing like that. But when I started to walk away, he kept asking me questions about you. I didn’t answer. I was afraid he’d come to the house and bother Mammi and Daad, but he didn’t.” She seemed relieved to have it said.
“What made you think he was the private investigator?”
She shook her head ruefully. “Didn’t I say? He spoke of a client who wanted to know. If you hadn’t already talked to me about the private investigator, I wouldn’t have thought of it. But I still wouldn’t have talked about you.”
“I know that. I think you’re right—I don’t see who else it could have been.” It shouldn’t be this much of a blow. He had already known that the man had been investigating in Harrisburg. It only made sense that he’d follow them here.
“I’m sorry.” Cathy’s voice was soft. “I wish I didn’t have to tell you, but I thought you should know.”
“It’s better that way.” He squeezed her hand, even as he thought he shouldn’t be touching her.
But she was so warm, so loving. And so not for him.
CHAPTER NINE
CATHY GLANCED AROUND the scene at the school yard on Saturday, marveling as always at the number of people who turned out when there was anything to be done at the school. Even those whose children had long moved past the Creekside School turned out, just as they did for the Christmas program and the end-of-the-year picnic. The school really was theirs in a unique way.
“It’s a fine turnout.” Michael’s father, Josiah, stopped next to her, and Cathy’s stomach promptly turned over at the thought of Sarah’s plan.
“I was just thinking that myself. It’s wonderful gut to see so many people working.”
“They want to see the school yard looking nice for the school picnic, so our Sarah says.”
“Denke. I’m sehr glad you came to help today.” This might be the longest conversation she’d ever had with Josiah Forster, and she suspected he wasn’t thinking of her at all. His gaze was fixed on one of the children, and she didn’t need to turn around to know it was Allie.
If only he’d say something to the child. She was his granddaughter just as much as Ruthie was. Surely his grudge against Michael didn’t extend to Allie.
Her lips twitched with the desire to say something to him about Allie, but she couldn’t. She could only look on and hope he might be hiding love behind that stoic face.
“I’d best help Lige with cutting that ball field if it’s going to be done today.” With a short nod, he strode off across the school yard.
Cathy watched him for a moment. Josiah must be in his sixties, but he was as lean and wiry as a much younger man. According to Sarah, he worked as hard as a younger man, too, running the dairy farm with his two younger sons to help him.
Unlike Sarah, they hadn’t ventured to make contact with their older brother, either because they agreed with Josiah or because they didn’t want to go against him. Given the stern quality of his face, she could understand why they might feel that way.
As for her...she felt less and less sure that Sarah’s plan was going to work. Or that she could successfully carry out her part in it.
And thinking of Sarah, here she was, hurrying across to Cathy, pulling a child’s wagon behind her.
“Verna asks if you’d mind going over to the greenhouse and picking up some more flowers for around the school. You can take the wagon to haul
them back.”
“There’s no one close enough to hear, so I don’t think you need to announce it,” Cathy muttered. This was going to go wrong—she could feel it.
“Just in case.” Sarah’s eyes sparkled with mischief. She was obviously enjoying this. Too bad Sarah had picked such poor helpers—Verna just blurted out anything she wanted to say, and Cathy got tongue-tied at the thought of putting on any pretense, especially with Michael.
“This isn’t going to work.” Cathy shot a look at Josiah. “Your father won’t like it, and Michael will be furious.”
“It’s worth anything if it mends this stupid quarrel. Stubborn as mules, both of them.” She grimaced. “Just look at Daad. He keeps looking at Allie. He wants to talk to her, but he won’t do it. He’ll just keep wanting and not doing, unless someone pushes him into it.”
She made one last effort. “I’m not the best person to do this. As soon as Michael sees me, he’ll know something is going on.”
Sarah grabbed her arm. “You can’t back out now. Anyway, I’m not asking you to lie to him. I know you won’t do that. Just ask him to help you. Go on.”
She gave Cathy a gentle push.
There was no use arguing with Sarah—there never had been. All Sarah could see was reconciliation, but Cathy didn’t think she’d get her happy ending, at least not this way.
Trundling the wagon behind her, Cathy set off on the path toward the greenhouse. Apart from all her other hesitations, she hated to leave the work frolic, even for a good reason. Among the workers today were the three members of the Creekside school board...the board that had still not offered her a contract for next year. What might they think if they realized she was gone?
Needless to say, Mary Alice and her mother were prominent among the helpers today. Lizzie didn’t miss any opportunity to push her daughter forward.
Mary Alice didn’t seem to appreciate it very much. She was only a few years out of school herself, and she’d never shown any burning interest in teaching, as far as Cathy could see. Maybe she should have invited Mary Alice to help as a teacher’s aide—come to think of it, it was odd that Lizzie had never volunteered her.