Leah's Choice

by Marta Perry

  “It’s a lot of changes.” Daniel propped his elbow on the cabinet. Around the corner of the farmhouse, another group of the brethren were carting furniture into the grossdaadi haus. “Two families moving in one day is enough to cause upsets.”

  Mahlon shrugged. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about, but Mamm wants everything just so in the new place, and Barbara—” He raised his eyebrows expressively.

  Daniel grinned. He liked young Mahlon, with his easygoing manner and his open, pleasant face. And it was a fine thing to feel accepted so readily by him.

  Not that he wouldn’t have come in any event to help his neighbors with their move. But it was the first work frolic he’d been involved in since he’d come to Pleasant Valley, and that made it a positive step toward belonging.

  Some women of the church were setting up lunch tables under the trees, while others helped to unpack boxes and put things away in both houses. Men carted boxes and furniture from here to there. The children darted in and out among them, some of the older ones helping, others just getting in the way.

  Matthew had been entrusted with the job of taking water to the workers, and he seemed to be taking the job seriously. Even now he came toward them, carrying a full bucket, stopping to offer Mahlon a drink first.

  Such a simple thing, but it made Daniel’s heart swell with pleasure. That was what he’d longed for during those years apart—just the simple tasks of Amish life, shared with his children.

  Elizabeth also had a job to do. She and her friend Becky had been put in charge of some of the younger children, whom they led in a game a safe distance away from all the activity.

  “A drink, Daad?” Matthew held out the dipper.

  He wasn’t thirsty, but he took it anyway just for the pleasure of sharing the moment with his son. “Do a gut job, now.”

  “I will.” Matthew hurried off around the house, his face intent with responsibility.

  “A fine boy, that,” Mahlon said. “Not a schnickelfritz like Levi’s boy.”

  “He gets into mischief already,” he said, remembering the motorcycle. “I understand you might be setting up a family for yourself sometime soon,” he said.

  Mahlon flushed. “Ja, we will that.” He glanced toward the kitchen, where the debate apparently still went on. “Just as well, I think, with Mamm and Daadi moving into the daadi haus. Barbara will want this place for her family, especially with another babe on the way.”

  “Your sisters will still be here though,” Daniel pointed out.

  Mahlon shrugged. “Anna’s old enough to start thinking about a wedding instead of running around all the time. And Leah—well, Leah’s a gut aunt.”

  It seemed the unspoken thought was that Barbara would be foolish to think of causing problems for Leah in the house. Still, the change couldn’t make for an easy situation for Leah.

  His gaze sought her out, and he realized that he’d known all along where she was, spreading a cloth over the picnic tables, even though he hadn’t been consciously thinking about her.

  Her situation was not easy in a lot of ways. She didn’t fit in with the other unmarried girls, all younger than she, who were giggling and flirting as they went about their chores. And the young married women, who were more her age, were occupied with babies and growing families.

  “She would be a gut mother herself, as well as an aunt.”

  The fact that he’d said the words aloud startled him. He didn’t want people getting the wrong idea about him and Leah.

  Mahlon looked startled as well. “Leah? She always says she’s past getting married. Although I suppose—”

  He stopped, apparently thinking that Daniel could be a prospective suitor. Mahlon flushed to the tips of his ears. “She’s a fine person. I didn’t mean—”

  He stopped again, maybe because everything he tried to say seemed to lead in the wrong direction. He bent and grabbed the bottom of the cabinet.

  “Let’s get this inside. Maybe then Barbara will make up her mind. I’m ready for middaagesse.”

  It looked as if the servers were about ready for lunch, too. Women were carrying baskets to the tables, where Leah supervised setting them out.

  He picked up his end of the oak cabinet. “We’d best do some carrying to earn our lunch.”

  Would he talk with Leah then? They hadn’t spoken all week, but he felt as if that conversation in the garden had happened minutes ago.

  They hoisted the cabinet into the kitchen. Faced with its size, Barbara seemed to realize there was only one proper place for it, and it was deposited there without further trouble.

  “That will do it.” She glanced at him. “It’s kind of you to help, Daniel.”

  He gave the nod that was the only right response. Barbara seemed to look at him with more interest than he’d expected. True, he was new in the district, but this wasn’t the first time they’d met. He’d expect her to have gotten over her curiosity by now.

  Mahlon nudged him. “Let’s get some food before the others hog it all. Komm.”

  He’d guess that Mahlon was still filling out his long frame, but he followed him outside to the picnic tables. Leah, seeing him coming, stepped a little away from the table to meet him.

  “Your brother is ready to eat,” he said.

  “My brother is always ready to eat.” She waved her hand at Mahlon as if she shooed away a fly. “Go on, fill your plate already.”

  Mahlon grinned and took a ladleful of potato salad that filled half his plate.

  “He’s still a growing boy,” Daniel suggested. “I seem to remember feeling like that.”

  Leah didn’t smile in return. Instead she looked at him with a kind of sweet gravity. “I must tell you something, Daniel.”

  For a moment he could only stare at her. Then certainty pooled inside him at her expression.

  “Someone has found out about what happened to us.”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry. One of Barbara’s neighbors had a letter from a cousin in Lancaster County.”

  He looked for his children—Matthew and Elizabeth going about their chores, Jonah playing happily with some of the younger ones. They were fine for the moment.

  “I’d hoped for a little more time.”

  “I know,” she said softly. “But it won’t matter, you’ll see. The brethren will care about you and yours all the more. It will be fine.”

  “I hope so.” His throat tightened. He didn’t mind for himself. Folks could talk about him all they wanted.

  But the children—how did he protect them?

  Leah waved good-bye to another buggy as the Miller family left. Almost everything had been moved into the farmhouse or transferred to the daadi haus. They’d have some sorting and storing ahead of them, but at least the worst of it was finished.

  She glanced around the yard. Matthew was helping his father carry a box toward the daadi haus. Her heart winced at Daniel’s expression. Withdrawn, stoic—it was the face of someone prepared to endure whatever was necessary.

  And Matthew looked very like him at the moment. Did that mean Matthew realized people knew about that period in his life? It was hard to tell.

  She picked up a tray of dishes from the picnic table and carried them toward the kitchen. She sympathized with Daniel’s feelings, but really, he had to have known that everyone would find out soon.

  As Mamm had said, the brethren would be sympathetic to his troubles, wanting to help.

  But they would talk. My, how they would talk. She couldn’t blame Daniel for wanting to avoid that as long as possible.

  She entered the kitchen to find that Barbara was busily putting dishes in the cupboard, talking all the while to Mamm. As for her mother—

  One look, and Leah crossed the room quickly to put her arm around her mother’s waist. “Mamm, it’s time you had a rest. Barbara and I will take care of whatever else needs to be done here.”

  Drawn to attention by Leah’s words, Barbara climbed down from the stool she’d been standing on. “Leah
is right. I should have said something. You go right along to the daadi haus and rest, and I’ll bring you a cup of tea as soon as the water boils.” She was already putting the kettle on the stove as she spoke.

  Leah smiled at her sister-in-law. Barbara might be unaware of people’s feelings sometimes, but she was kind at heart despite that.

  She would try harder, Leah promised silently. She would remind herself of Barbara’s fine points and ignore the rest.

  For once her mother didn’t argue, which must be a measure of how tired she was. She went slowly out the side door that led to the daadi haus.

  Leah straightened her back. She couldn’t stop yet, however attractive that sounded. “I’ll bring the rest of the dishes from the picnic table.”

  She no sooner reached the yard than Anna came toward her, half running. She grabbed Leah’s arm.

  “You need to come right away.” The words tumbled out in an urgent undertone. “It’s Elizabeth. She’s in the barn, crying, and I can’t get her to stop.”

  Leah’s heart twisted. “I’ll get Daniel—”

  “That’s what I said, but she doesn’t want him.” Anna’s eyes were dark with concern. “When I said I must call someone, she asked for you.”

  She should tell Daniel, but maybe it made sense to find out what was wrong first. She followed Anna, who was already hurrying toward the barn.

  If the child had hurt herself—but surely if that was the case, she’d want her father. The fear that Daniel felt curled around her heart. Was this because people knew about Elizabeth’s mother taking the children away? If so, Leah was out of her depth in dealing with it.

  She caught up with Anna at the barn door. “What were you doing out here? Did you hear her?”

  Anna shrugged, slid out of Leah’s grasp, and sidled through the door. Leah followed. And stopped.

  Elizabeth had apparently climbed into the hay mow. She curled there, hands over her face, her little body shaking with sobs. And a few feet away, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable, stood an English boy.

  For a moment she could only stand there, amazed at Anna’s effrontery. How could she have the boy here today, of all days, with half the church around? It was as if she wanted to get caught.

  “I tried to comfort her, but she just keeps crying.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, hunching his shoulders.

  “We’ll take care of her,” Leah said crisply. She climbed over the low barrier to the hay mow, sending Anna a glance that should have singed her. “Send him away at once,” she said in Pennsylvania Dutch.

  “I don’t see why—” Anna began, looking mulish.

  “Now,” she snapped. “We’ll talk about this later. There are more immediate things to deal with.”

  Sulky, Anna grabbed the boy’s arm and shoved him toward the door, muttering something to him that Leah couldn’t hear. Maybe that was just as well.

  Leah sank down in the hay next to the crying child. “There, now, Elizabeth. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

  She shook her head.

  Leah pulled the child toward her, wrapping her arms around the small figure. “All right.” She held her close. “It’s going to be all right.”

  Some hurts went too deep for talk. She knew that for herself. Sometimes all you could do was hold someone.

  Guide me now, dear Father. I don’t know what to do for this suffering child. Please give me the right words to comfort her.

  She held Elizabeth, rocking back and forth, crooning softly in a mix of lullabies and comforting words. She could only hope that the little girl understood enough to take comfort, at least from her presence, if not from her words.

  After a while the sobs began to lessen in intensity, though the little body still shook with involuntary spasms. Elizabeth reached up to run her hand along her hair in a futile effort to right herself.

  “There, now, it’s all right.” Leah continued in dialect instead of the English she’d have used with her in school. “Don’t worry about how you look.”

  Elizabeth drew back a little, not meeting Leah’s eyes. She sniffled, her hands twisting in her lap. “I’m sorry.” She whispered the words.

  “Don’t be sorry.” Maybe a calm, matter-of-fact approach was best. “Everyone needs to cry sometimes, and the hay mow is a good place for it. Usually it’s nice and private, but today you had company, didn’t you?”

  “Anna came in with her friend.” Elizabeth hiccoughed. “I wanted to hide, but I was crying too hard. I didn’t want her to see me.”

  Leah stroked Elizabeth’s hair, smoothing the tumbled strands. “Anna won’t say anything to anyone. Besides, she’s done her share of crying out here from time to time.”

  “She comes here to cry?” Elizabeth looked up at her, eyes round.

  “She used to.” Today she’d come with something different in mind, and that was still to be dealt with. “Or she’d climb up in the willow tree when she wanted to be by herself. Once she went too high and couldn’t get down, and Levi had to bring the ladder to fetch her.”

  That brought the faint smile to the child’s face Leah had been hoping for.

  She used her handkerchief to wipe the last traces of tears from Elizabeth’s cheeks. “Were you upset because people found out about when you . . .”

  She hesitated. What was the right phrase? She wasn’t sure.

  “They were talking about my mamma.” Elizabeth burst out with it before Leah could come up with the proper words. “I don’t want them to.”

  Leah’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. Sometimes people talk, but they’re not really being mean. They’re just not thinking about the fact that you might be missing her.”

  “I don’t miss her.” The child’s hands clenched. “I don’t. I don’t want to talk about her ever again!”

  The vehemence in the child’s voice took Leah aback.

  “It’s all right. You don’t have to.”

  Was this grief or anger? She wasn’t sure, and not knowing the circumstances made it impossible for her to respond the right way. If Daniel had seen fit to open up a little more, maybe she’d be better able to deal with this.

  Elizabeth was looking at her with a doubting expression, and all she could do was try to reassure her.

  “Really. You don’t have to talk about her at all if you don’t want to.”

  Elizabeth stared at her for another moment. Then her face seemed to relax, and she sighed. “Ser gut,” she murmured.

  Was it good? She didn’t think so, but she didn’t have the right to interfere.

  The barn door creaked open. Daniel loomed for a moment on the threshold, probably to let his eyes grow accustomed to the dim light. Then he strode toward them, scooped his daughter up in his arms, and turned away.

  Leah scrambled out of the hay, shaking her skirt. “Daniel—”

  He glanced at her, his face shuttered tight against her. “I’ll take care of my daughter,” he said, and walked out.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Leah tapped lightly on Anna’s bedroom door. At a murmur from within, she opened it. Barbara and Levi were on the back porch, watching the children play as twilight drew in. This was probably the one chance she’d have to talk to Anna without anyone hearing.

  She closed the door and leaned on it. Anna was rebraiding her hair, meaning that she intended to go out again. A small navy duffel bag lay on the bed, zipped closed.

  If Leah looked, which she wouldn’t, she’d probably find it contained English clothes. Many, if not most, Amish teens tried out modern clothing at one time or another during their rumspringa.

  If only that was all Anna was doing. It was one thing to have English friends. It was another to be meeting a strange boy in the barn. She murmured a silent prayer for guidance.

  “Well?” Anna, apparently tired of waiting, swung toward her. “Say what you’ve been waiting the whole day to say already.”

  Leah sank down on the bed. She wanted to have this conversation without blaming
or scolding, but how could she?

  “What were you thinking, Anna? Why did you invite that boy here today, of all days? With all that had to be done and with half the church here—well, it was foolhardy, at best.”

  “I didn’t invite him today.” The defiance in Anna’s face faded, and she shifted her gaze away from her sister. “I’m not that dumb. He just showed up. And don’t call him ‘that boy.’ His name is Jarrod Wells.”

  “All right.” At least her little sister had more sense than she’d been fearing. “Why did Jarrod Wells come today, then, if you didn’t ask him?”

  Anna shrugged. “I don’t know. He just wanted to talk, that’s all.”

  “Talk?”

  “Ja, talk,” Anna flared. “I have a right to my own friends, don’t I? You and the boys had your rumspringa, and I’m having mine. Don’t tell me you didn’t do things you wouldn’t want Mammi and Daadi to know about.”

  “I suppose I did.” But those things had been pretty tame, it seemed, by Anna’s standards.

  She suddenly felt the more than ten years’ difference in their ages. Those years separated them as if they stood on opposite banks of a river.

  She had been nearly twelve when Anna—the much longed-for baby sister after the boys—was born. Leah had been her second mother, so happy to take care of her and play with her. She’d thought they would always be as close as they had been then.

  “Anna, please.” She tried to put all those years of love into the words. “You must know I don’t want to be the interfering older sister, out to ruin your fun.”

  “Then leave me alone. Trust me.” Anna grasped the footboard of the bed, leaning forward with urgency in her voice, every line of her body proclaiming how passionate she was about this.

  When Anna wanted, she wanted with her whole heart. Her emotions were always on the surface, ready to burst out in an instant. Maybe that was what frightened Leah so about her sister’s choices.

  She put her hand over Anna’s. “I just want you to be safe.”

  “I’m careful.”