The Middlefield Family Collection

by Kathleen Fuller

  “I can’t be happy with a foolish decision.”

  Adam stepped forward. “How is marrying the woman I love foolish?”

  Daed didn’t flinch. “How do you know you love her?”

  “I know. And I don’t have to explain it to you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t believe this. Our families have been friends and neighbors since Emma and I were children.

  Emma and I were—are—best friends. Yet you and Mamm are acting like I want to marry a stranger.”

  “You’ve been back in Middlefield for, what, two months?”

  His father shook his head. “You nearly died a few weeks ago.

  This decision is rash.”

  “If anything, what’s happened to me since I came back to Middlefield brought me to the right decision. I should never have left. I wasn’t happy in the Yankee world.”

  “You weren’t happy being Amish either.”

  “But I am now.” He stepped toward his dad. “I’ve changed.

  God has forgiven me. The church has welcomed me back. Emma has agreed to be mei fraa. Why is none of that gut enough for you?”

  His father didn’t say anything. His gaze shifted, past Adam’s shoulder. Adam turned around to see what he was looking at.

  The only thing behind them was the inside of the barn.

  “What did you do while you lived in Michigan?”

  Adam turned back to his dad. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Ya, it does. Did you have a maedel? A Yankee girlfriend?”

  Adam’s stomach turned. “Ya.”

  “Does Emma know?”

  He swallowed. “She doesn’t need to. It’s—”

  “In the past.” His father’s chin dipped as the corners of his eyes sagged. “Adam, were you with that girl?”

  “With her?”

  “I doubt you were innocent while you were gone. Your exact words, as I recall, were that you were determined to ‘be your own mann and live life by your rules, not God’s and not the Amish.’ Do you remember telling me that?”

  “More than once.” Adam bit the inside of his cheek.

  “I know what that means, especially when it comes to women.”

  Adam’s mouth dropped open as he realized what his father was saying. Heat crept up his neck. He should tell the old man to mind his business. But he couldn’t.

  His father was right. Adam couldn’t change the subject, ignore it, or, worse, deny what happened. Still, the humiliation he felt made it next to impossible to get the words out. “Twice.

  I slept with her twice.”

  Disapproval seeped into his father’s eyes, making Adam feel lower than the dirt beneath his feet. “Were you ever going to tell Emma?”

  Adam shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

  “So you’ll marry her with that secret between you?”

  Adam turned around. Scrubbed his hand over his face.

  Sleeping with Ashley had been a mistake. He knew it at the time, but he was in rebellion and didn’t care. He never thought about the consequences, other than making sure he didn’t get her pregnant. Before he returned to church, he confessed that sin. Privately. He never wanted to think about it again.

  Suddenly he felt his father’s hand on his shoulder. Adam turned around. “What?”

  The disapproval in his daed’s eyes disappeared, replaced with sadness. Or was it sympathy? Adam couldn’t tell. “If you’re going to marry her, you have to tell her.”

  “I have to protect her,” Adam said. “I promised I’d never hurt her again. I intend to keep that promise.”

  “Then you made another mistake. Never make a promise you can’t keep. When you love someone, and live with someone, you will hurt her, whether you mean to or not.”

  “Like you’re hurting Mamm?”

  The frown reappeared. “We’re not talking about your mamm and mei.”

  “Maybe we should.”

  “So we can avoid talking about you and Emma?” His father shook his head. “You’ve proven to me you’re not ready to get married. Everything is not clear between you and Emma. If you believe you can keep this secret forever, you’re wrong. It will come out. If not now, then later on down the road. How will you face her when that happens?”

  “I’ll deal with it when the time comes.” Adam was making his father’s point, and he detested himself for it. He leaned against the fence post, his head down. “If I tell her, I could lose her.”

  His father didn’t say anything for a moment. Finally, he spoke. “Maybe. You’ll have to take that risk. If you don’t tell her and she finds out, you’ll lose her eventually.”

  “That’s not true. Once we’re married, we’ll be together for life. We can’t divorce.”

  “There are other kinds of divorce within a marriage.

  You can live separate lives under the same roof. And that can lead to destruction, not only of your relationship, but of yourself.”

  Adam looked at him, trying to figure out what his daed wasn’t saying. But the man’s expression became hard.

  Unreadable.

  “Do you really want to marry Emma?” Daed asked. “Do you love her enough to tell her the truth?”

  Adam gulped. But he didn’t have to think about it. “Ya. I do. I only hope that when I tell her, she can forgive me.” He turned around and headed back to the house, his parents’ problems fading into the back of his mind. How could he possibly tell Emma about his past with Ashley?

  God, I don’t want to lose her.

  When he returned home to Middlefield and his Amish life, Adam had experienced both the consequences of his actions and the forgiveness of God and the community. He had expected that to be the end of it.

  But it wasn’t. He would still have to pay for his biggest regret—and Emma would pay for it too.

  Norman leaned against the wall of the barn. His hat tilted back until it started to slip off his head. It landed on the ground. He didn’t bother to pick it up.

  Adam was right. He should be happy for him and Emma.

  But he couldn’t be, not completely. He loved Emma like his own daughter. And at one time, he would have been pleased at the idea of the two of them together.

  But now, although his love for Emma hadn’t changed, the circumstances had. He had given Adam the right advice. Too bad he was too much of a coward to heed his own words.

  Norman snatched his hat off the ground and brushed the dirt off. He picked up the rake and tried to block out the world, working at the menial task until he was too exhausted to do anything but fall into bed.

  It was how he’d coped with Adam’s rumspringa. There were times he would have lost his sanity if he hadn’t been outside among his animals, working the land. Some days it was the only way he had any peace, a state of mind and soul that Adam had been chipping away at for years with a rebellion that culminated in leaving the Amish faith.

  Now his son was back. Yet Norman was still avoiding the house, avoiding his family. If only the situation with his wife could be ignored as easily as his wayward boy.

  Norman loved his wife. After twenty-five years, he still cared deeply for her. But he had made a mistake. One that made his son’s rebellious indiscretion pale in comparison. And he didn’t know why or even how, but he suspected Carol knew about it.

  Shame filled him. He was a deacon. Held to a higher standard. Yet how could he acknowledge his sin to his wife, his son, possibly the church?

  The rake fell out of his hands. He dropped to his knees.

  God, forgive me . . .

  It wasn’t the first time he’d asked for forgiveness.

  It also wasn’t the first time he didn’t feel forgiven.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

  Cora tapped her manicured nails on the edge of the leather seat. She looked at Kenneth Hamilton, her personal attorney.

  She had called him the night before, and he had met her at the penthouse before dawn. Now they
were headed for the airport.

  Cora retained several attorneys, but Kenneth had been with her the longest. She confided more in him than in anyone else. Even then, she only told him the minimum of what he needed to know. “I’m positive. This is something I need to do on my own.”

  Kenneth adjusted his glasses and looked over the open file folder of legal documents and forms. “Everything seems to be in order here, considering the rush job I put my paralegal through.” He looked at Cora. “But I have to tell you. Since your grandson is an adult, there’s not much you can do to make him come to New York.”

  “Which is why I wanted you to draft a new will.”

  “He can still refuse.” Kenneth took off his glasses and set them on his lap. “I wish you would reconsider your final wishes, Mrs. Easely. I would hate to see everything you and your late husband worked for fall into the wrong hands.”

  “He’s my grandson. This is his birthright.” Cora glanced out the window as her driver weaved through early morning New York traffic. “I would not have my sizable fortune end up in some trust for strangers to siphon out until it was empty.”

  “We can make sure that won’t happen.”

  “Don’t worry, Kenneth. You’ll get your usual fee. And you will still be on retainer. I have no intention of firing you.”

  He tugged at his collar. “The thought never crossed my mind.”

  “Perhaps you’re more concerned about my grandson firing you?”

  Kenneth touched a well-groomed, silvery sideburn. “If he’s of the same fine character as his grandmother, then my concern would certainly be invalid.”

  Cora turned to her attorney. “I’m not on my deathbed yet.

  And I’m fully confident that Sawyer will return with me. I’ll make sure he’s trained in how to run our business concerns.”

  The same business his mother had turned her back on when she married that useless husband of hers. But Cora had made a mistake with Kerry. One she didn’t intend to repeat with Sawyer.

  “Well then.” Kenneth put his glasses in his suit jacket pocket and gathered the papers. “I suppose there’s nothing left to say except good luck. I hope you find everything in Middlefield agreeable to you.”

  Including your grandson.

  Kenneth didn’t have to say the words out loud. The silent thought hung in the air between them as they continued on to the airport.

  Her child had been such a disappointment to her. But her grandson wouldn’t be. Cora felt that deep inside, a truth she couldn’t deny. Still, the thought did not help steady her nerves.

  Cora wasn’t used to slow taxis. She wasn’t used to taxis at all, to be perfectly honest. She was used to a finely appointed limo with an experienced driver who knew how to negotiate the crowded streets of New York, weaving in and out of avenues and boulevards jammed with traffic.

  There were few cars on this road in Middlefield, yet the driver was poking along as if caught in five o’clock gridlock.

  If they were doing ten miles an hour, she was the queen of England.

  She should have paid the extra money, brought her chauffer, and rented a car. Luxury model, of course. But she didn’t want to invite questioning, and this didn’t seem to be the kind of town that would ignore an entourage. She wanted to slip in, retrieve her grandson, and fly back to New York without spending a moment longer in this backwater than absolutely necessary.

  With any luck, she’d be in first class with a glass of champagne, and her grandson beside her, before the sun went down.

  If this infernal driver would get a move on, that is.

  “Can’t you hurry up?” When the driver didn’t respond, she forced out the one word she rarely used. “Please.”

  The taxi driver talked over his shoulder. “We’re in Amish country. No need to hurry.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  From Cleveland to Middlefield was, Kenneth had told her, about forty-five miles. Yet they’d been driving for over an hour with no sign of arriving anywhere. The taxi fare from the airport was already exorbitant, but it was clear this driver needed more incentive. “I’ll double your rate if you get me to my destination quickly.”

  “I’ll do my best.” He tilted back his baseball cap. A little cartoon Indian was embroidered on the front. “All depends on how many buggies we get behind.”

  Buggies. Cora fell back against her seat and scowled. She knew precious little about these people, except that they were incredibly backward, and deliberately so. One of her friends had once invited her on a tour of Amish country in Pennsylvania.

  “You’ll love it,” Isabel had said. “Everything is so peaceful. We need a break from the bustling city for a while.”

  But Cora had refused. The Hamptons were rural enough for her.

  A black buggy appeared. Piles of horse manure dotted the side of the road. Cora wrinkled her nose. “And people say New York City is dirty.”

  “What was that, ma’am?”

  “Nothing. How long is this going to take?”

  “Like I said.” He gestured a hairy forearm toward the windshield. Even though it was getting close to winter, he wore short sleeves. “Depends on the buggies. You know, most people come to Amish country to relax.”

  She adjusted her cream-colored cashmere scarf around her neck. “I’m not most people.”

  The driver didn’t respond. Wise man.

  “Coming!” Anna Byler wiped her floury hands on a kitchen dishrag. Who would be here mid-morning, especially on baking day? Fortunately she’d just set all eight balls of dough to rise. She had at least thirty minutes before she’d have to attend to them again.

  Anna left the kitchen and hurried to the front of the house.

  Another set of sharp, impatient knocks echoed through the house.

  “Just a minute.” She pushed back a loose strand of hair as she opened the door. An unfamiliar woman stood on the porch, a steady curtain of rain her backdrop. What had started as mist this morning had now turned into a full downpour. Somehow the woman managed not to have a drop on her.

  “Hello,” Anna said.

  The woman held her umbrella away from her body and shook off the excess water. She didn’t look at Anna when she spoke. “I’m here to see Mr. Sawyer Thompson.” She leaned the umbrella against the side of the house. Without asking, Anna noted.

  She stared at the Yankee woman. Anna had never seen anyone quite like her before. The collar around her coat had to be real fur. The woman’s hair was short and silver, almost white.

  Long nails with white tips tapped on a gold watch. A cloud of floral perfume wafted from her in the damp air. “I hope you don’t plan to keep me standing here all day. Is Sawyer here or not?”

  “Would you like to come in?” Anna opened the door wider.

  “To get out of the rain?”

  “Only if Sawyer is inside.” Her accent sounded strange too.

  Anna wondered if she was from Ohio.

  The woman sniffed and glanced around the porch. Her nose wrinkled, as if she smelled something foul. There was, of course, the usual scent of livestock in the air, heightened as it always was during and after a rain. Everyone in Middlefield was used to it.

  “I’m sorry,” Anna said. “Sawyer is at work. If you tell me your name, I’ll let him know—”

  “Where is his place of employment?”

  Anna’s brow rose, along with her guard. “What?”

  “Where . . . does . . . he . . . work?” The woman’s gaze slid down her nose as she looked at Anna.

  Anna crossed her arms. She didn’t appreciate being treated as if she were stupid. But she held her tongue and managed to remain polite. “He works with my husband. Like I said, I’d be happy to tell him you stopped by.”

  “I don’t have time for this. You will tell me where he works. Now.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss . . .” Anna waited for her to respond. When she didn’t, Anna stepped forward. Her bare feet hit the cold porch as the rain slowed. “I’m not tel
ling you anything unless I know who you are.”

  The woman fiddled with a light tan scarf tied around her neck. She stared down at Anna’s bare feet. Finally she looked up. “My name is Easley,” she said. “Cora Easley.”

  “How do you know Sawyer?”

  Cora lifted her chin, her look both confident and chilling.

  “I am his grandmother.”

  “Grandmother?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “But Sawyer doesn’t have any other family.”

  “Obviously you’re misinformed.” The woman lifted an eyebrow. “Now, will you tell me his place of employment?”

  “I—” Anna hesitated, trying to comprehend what she’d heard. Sawyer had family? Why hadn’t they known this before?

  If this woman was telling the truth, if she really was Sawyer’s grandmother, why was she showing up now? Anna couldn’t just send her to the shop, not like this. “I think it would be best if you talked to him after work.”

  You think it would be best.” Cora sniffed.“Who are you to “make that decision?”

  “His mother.”

  The woman lifted her chin and arched one eyebrow.

  “Adoptive mother. My daughter, Kerry, was his true mother.”

  Anna fought to remain calm. “Sawyer works with his father at our carpentry shop. It’s the Christmas season, and—”

  Cora’s gaze narrowed. “Is this an attempt to put me off?

  Because I assure you, no one will stand between me and my grandson.”

  “Nee.” Anna’s panic rose. “I wouldn’t do that. He’ll be surprised to see you, that’s all. I think it would be better for both of you to have some time to talk. Since it’s the Christmas season, they’re very busy at work right now.”

  “A carpentry shop.” Cora frowned and shook her head.

  Then she looked at Anna. “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected any better.” She picked up her umbrella and returned to the car.

  “Where are you going?” Anna asked.