by Marta Perry
“Barbara was just telling us the gossip that’s going around,” Samuel said evenly, his gaze meeting hers.
A surge of gratitude went through her. Samuel understood better than anyone that she’d rather know than guess.
“What are they saying?” She stood stiffly at the end of the picnic table, feeling like the accused.
Barbara’s normally ruddy cheeks were flushed even more. “Levi says I should have kept my mouth shut, and maybe he’s right. But that Mary Stoltzfus is just plain mean-spirited.”
“Barbara . . .” Levi said.
“Well, she is.” Barbara glanced at her boys, chasing each other around the oak tree. “Maybe because she had no kinder of her own, she always thinks she knows more than anyone. Well, she was wrong about our Anna, and I told her so right to her face, right there in Mueller’s store.”
A mix of feelings roiled in Anna—surprise that Barbara had stood up for her mingled with annoyance that she’d done it in so public a place, along with anger at Mary Stoltzfus and her interfering.
“What is she saying?” She managed to say the words evenly.
Barbara’s color deepened to a dull brick shade. “That little Gracie is really your child, and that the rest of the story is a pack of lies. And I said to her, ‘Mary Stoltzfus, you should be ashamed and on your knees in front of the congregation yourself. Elias Beiler himself saw the papers making Gracie our Anna’s adopted child, and the bishop is the one to know Anna’s heart, not you.’ That’s what I said, and I’d say it again.” She looked around, as if wanting someone to argue with her.
Anna couldn’t say a thing. That Barbara, of all people, should be the one to spring to her defense—well, as Samuel had once pointed out to her, she’d never given Barbara much cause to like her. Her throat was almost too tight to speak, but she had to.
“Denke, Barbara. Denke.”
She’d have tried to say more, but Gracie picked that moment to take two wavering steps. Even before Anna could exclaim about it, Gracie suddenly seemed to realize what she was doing, wobbled, and fell onto her hands and knees. More surprised than hurt, she burst into tears.
Daadi reached her before anyone else could. “There, there, little one.” He scooped her up in his arms, cradling her against his chest. “You’re all right, ain’t so? You’re just learning to walk. It takes a few tumbles to learn something new.”
Gracie sniffled a time or two and smiled, with an effect like the sun coming from behind the clouds. She patted his beard. “Ga-da,” she announced proudly.
“Ach, she’s trying to say grossdaadi, the little dear,” Esther said.
Murmurs of agreement, of love, sounded. Daadi’s eyes were bright with tears as he smiled and kissed Gracie.
Anna tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She wanted Gracie to be safe, and so she was. The family would give Gracie more than Anna ever could alone.
And if, in the end, she decided they should leave, at least Gracie would have known their love.
Longing welled up in her. Anna wanted to say something, do something, that would show what her heart couldn’t express.
She thought of the car—two cars, really. A car had taken her away from them, and another had brought her back again. That was the car that was parked in the barn, mute cause of Joseph’s pain.
She patted Gracie, secure in her grossdaadi’s arms. “Daadi, I think it’s time to get rid of the car. Do you know someone who would haul it away?”
He nodded, his eyes bright, his expression telling her that he knew exactly what she was saying.
“Ja, Anna. I will take care of it for you.” He clapped his hands, getting everyone’s attention. “Komm, it’s time we lit the candle on that birthday cake.”
Anna slipped out the back door into the dusk, much as she had when she’d been a teenager. Back then, she’d have been planning to hitch up Mamm’s buggy and go off to meet her friends, sometimes Amish but more often English.
Now, she simply wanted a few minutes to herself—that, and to find the toy dog Daadi had carved for Gracie. Somehow in the midst of all the cleaning up, the toy hadn’t made it back into the house.
She stepped down off the porch and switched on the flashlight she carried. She’d never find the small object in the grass without it. If the house had electric lights on the outside, as so many English farmhouses did, she could throw a switch and illuminate the whole area.
The Amish dictum had usually been that if it runs on batteries and doesn’t depend on a connection to the power grid, it’s acceptable. With the advent of so many other battery-operated gadgets, from boom boxes to cell phones and iPods, the lines had to be drawn over and over again.
She swept the flashlight beam across the yard in an arc. Could she get used to this way of life again?
She could give up electric lights, she supposed. But could she give up her independence after all she had gone through to get it?
The flashlight beam picked up a glimmer of white, and she stooped, but it was only a paper napkin, probably blown off the table.
She wanted to give Gracie the best life possible. Was an Amish life the best for her? What about college, a profession, all the things that the outside world considered important? The more she thought about it, the more she felt as if her head would explode.
“Have you lost something, Anna?” Samuel’s voice came out of the dark beyond the range of her light. She swung around, the beam striking his blue shirt, his tanned face.
He put up a hand to shield his eyes from the glare, and she lowered the torch immediately.
“I’m sorry. You startled me. I didn’t realize anyone was out here.”
“Just making the rounds of the barn and henhouse,” he said, moving closer.
“Don’t you need a light for that?”
He gave a low chuckle. “It’s not dark out yet, Anna. Switch that off and let your eyes get used to it. You’ll see.”
When she didn’t move, he put his hand over hers on the flashlight and turned it off. She began to protest, and he held up his hand.
“Just wait.”
They stood, not speaking. The rhythm of the evening settled over her—the rustle of the breeze among the tall sunflowers along the fence, the chirp of crickets, the lonely call of some night bird, answered by the whoo-whoo of an owl.
Her tumbling mind seemed to still along with her body. She inhaled. Exhaled. Saw the rhythmic flashes of the lightning bugs rising from the grass.
Gradually, as if the lights went up slowly in a theater, she realized she could see. Her eyes picked out the picnic table, the chairs, even a ball one of the children had forgotten. And there, in the grass almost at her feet, the small carved dog.
She bent and picked it up, closing her fingers around the smooth wood. “This is what I was looking for. Daadi made it for Gracie. I must have dropped it when I was taking her in.”
“Ja?” He took the dog from her, turning it over in his hand. “I saw her playing with it, but I didn’t realize Elias made it. He’s a gut grandfather, he is.”
“And father.” Daadi understood so much, it seemed. All the things she didn’t say.
“Ja.” The word came out a little rough, and she remembered about his own father, who’d lost himself voluntarily in the English world, leaving his family to fend for themselves.
“I heard what you said to him about the car,” Samuel said. “It’s ser hatt for you, giving that up.”
So hard. She nodded. “That car was the first one I ever owned. The only one, maybe. I guess it meant freedom to me.”
“Ja, I know. I wanted a car first thing when I jumped the fence.”
She should go in, but it sounded as if Samuel wanted to talk. Given Myra’s worries about him keeping everything to himself, she couldn’t discourage him. She sat on the picnic bench and patted the space next to her.
“Komm, sit for a minute. Tell me about it.”
He folded his long frame onto the bench, propping one elbow on the table behind th
em. “Not much to tell. I found out that it’s not so easy to get a car when you don’t have a job or a credit card or even a telephone.” He shook his head. “I was so green. Totally not ready for what it was like out there.”
She studied his face in the dim light. “Why did you go, then? It seems so out of character for you. You were never a rebel.”
“Like you,” he said, his teeth flashing in a smile.
“Like me,” she agreed, not even sure now what had been so important about that rebellion of hers.
Samuel looked down, his face growing serious. “It was my daad’s leaving, first off. It unsettled all of us. I kept trying to fill his shoes, thinking I’d be able to go on without him.”
“But you couldn’t,” she finished for him.
“I tried. I got baptized into the church, I courted Rebecca Miller, and we talked about marrying. But the closer it came, the more doubts I had. Mamm was still grieving about Daad, and I couldn’t seem to feel right about anything, not knowing why he’d left. I got it into my head to go after him.”
It made sense, and it also made her reasons for leaving seem frivolous in comparison. “You risked so much.”
“I did. The church doesn’t look lightly on baptized members leaving. I could have talked to Bishop Mose, explained what was in my mind. That’s what I should have done. Instead I went running off, not telling anyone what I intended, hurting my family even worse.”
His voice roughened, and the sound hurt her heart.
She touched his hand lightly, wanting to comfort him. “I’m sure your mamm understood.”
“I hope so. But it pained her. It made it seem like I was siding with him.” His fingers curled around hers, as if he needed something to hang on to.
“Did you find him?”
He was still for so long that she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he took a ragged breath.
“I found him. You know, I pictured him living in a shack someplace, maybe drinking himself to death, ashamed of what he’d done.” His fingers clutched tighter and he stopped, as if he couldn’t go on.
“It wasn’t like that,” she guessed, trying to help him along.
“No. Instead I found he had a whole different life, living with a woman who had a farm outside Columbus, Ohio. He looked prosperous and happy. He was so at ease that you’d think he’d never lived any other way, even though it was her money that put the clothes on his back and the car in his driveway, I’d guess.” His words were heavy with bitterness.
“I’m sorry.” Anna tried to imagine it and couldn’t.
“I felt like I’d never known him. Like maybe he didn’t even know himself.”
Through the bitterness, she sensed what it was that Samuel feared. She longed to comfort him as she would Gracie.
“You’re not like him. You’re not.”
“I hope I’m not. But how would I know for sure? When I came back, Rebecca wanted to pretend my leaving had never happened, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t marry her, not knowing if I wouldn’t suddenly make up my mind to walk away.”
“You wouldn’t,” Anna said again, searching for a way to convince him of what she saw so clearly. “You’re not someone who gives up once you’ve set your hand to something.”
Surely his endless patience with the horses, his steadfast determination to run the shop for Joseph, proved that.
He was shaking his head, and she put her hand to his cheek, wanting to stop him. To comfort him. But his skin was warm against her hand, and the touch sent that warmth shimmering along her skin.
He looked at her, something startled and aware visible in his eyes even in the dim light. The breath caught in her throat.
Then his head came down, and their lips met. She ought to pull away, but she couldn’t. She caressed his cheek, felt his arms go around her, drawing her close, and lost herself in his kiss.
After a long, dizzying moment he drew his lips away slowly. Reluctantly, it seemed. He brushed a trail of kisses across her cheek before he pulled back and looked at her.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he said gravely.
“Neither did I.” She could only be surprised that her voice sounded so calm.
“But I’m not sorry.” A smile lit his face with tenderness. “I’m not sure what it means, but I’m not sorry.”
He rose, clasped her hands for an instant and then let them go. “Good night, Anna. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She put her fingers to her lips, watching him stride off toward his place until the gathering dusk hid him from view. She didn’t know what it meant either, but for once, she wasn’t running away.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Are you still working on that old corn binder?” Samuel looked up at the sound of Joseph’s voice to see him leaning in the shop doorway. “As you can see. This time I’m going to get it working if I have to rebuild it from scratch. Should you be out here?”
Joseph moved a few more steps, listing a bit, and lowered himself to the wooden chair next to the desk. He was still hurting, clearly.
“Not according to your sister. She put me in a chair in the yard like she was putting a puppy in a pen and told me to stay there.”
Samuel grinned. “Myra’s getting a bit bossy, I’d say. Still, maybe you ought to go back out there and behave before she catches you. She might blame me.”
Although truth to tell, he was glad to have some company about now. It might keep him from reliving over and over those moments with Anna last evening. He kept catching himself staring into space with a silly grin on his face.
“Ach, it’s not going to hurt me to sit here a bit instead of out there in the yard. I’ll take the blame if Myra catches me.”
“That you will.” Samuel tinkered with a stiff bolt, finding that his stubborn imagination still refused to be diverted from the image of Anna’s face in the moonlight.
The why of it was simple, wasn’t it? Anna had been a lovely girl, one anybody would want to kiss. When she’d come back, a grown woman, he’d thought at first that she looked hard, with her English clothes and her tight, wary expression.
Changing to Amish dress had made her fit in, but it had taken time for the wariness to fade. She probably hadn’t even realized how her expression had countered her clothing.
Now it seemed that the bright, sassy manner and pert look of her teenage years had mellowed into a very appealing maturity.
Joseph’s chair squeaked as he moved. “Do you think Anna is settling down all right?”
The question, coming out of the blue, made Samuel instantly guilty. Did Joseph know about last night? How could he? Anna wouldn’t have gone in the house and said she’d been kissing him—that was certain-sure.
Samuel cleared his throat. “She seems contented enough.”
At least he thought that was true. They had all been too busy since the accident to do much sitting around and thinking, except for Joseph, who probably had too much time for that.
“Ja, she does,” Joseph agreed. “And she’s keeping busy, what with helping Myra and taking care of the boppli.”
“Then what has you so worried?” A thread of uneasiness went through Samuel.
“I guess I was just thinking about the girl she used to be, always running from one thing to the next, always so enthusiastic. She’s changed.”
Samuel sat back on his heels. Joseph’s thoughts were following the same trail as his, though not for the same reason.
“She’s grown up, is all. She probably took some hard knocks out there in the English world. That would change anyone.” It had changed him.
“I guess.” Joseph’s gaze seemed to look into the past. “When I think about how she used to be, I remember that we all wished she’d settle down, especially when every boy in the district was looking at her.” He smiled. “You, too, as I recall.”
“Ach, no, not me.” Samuel studied the bolt he’d just detached. “Well, maybe I looked at her from time to time. Such a pretty girl, who wouldn’t look?”
> “Well, then,” Joseph began.
“I knew she’d never have time for someone like me,” he added quickly. “I was too much a stick-in-the-mud for Anna.”
He hadn’t been last night, though. He wasn’t the only one enjoying that kiss. They’d both grown and changed in the past three years.
“That Anna never wanted to take responsibility for anything.” Joseph stretched a bit and then winced, putting his hand to his side. “Then the baby was dropped in her lap. Nothing takes more responsibility than being a parent does.”
“True.” Samuel gave Joseph a questioning look. “But I’m thinking you surely didn’t come out here to talk about how your sister has changed. What is worrying you about her?”
“Not worrying, exactly.” Joseph linked his hands together. “Just thinking about Myra and the new boppli. Myra’s getting so she depends on Anna a lot.”
Samuel mulled that over for a moment. “You’re afraid Anna might go off and leave Myra flat, is that it?”
He had to admit that the thought had crossed his own mind a time or two. The longer someone spent in the English world, the less likely it was that he or she would ever come back to stay.
“It could happen. I don’t want to think that, either for Anna’s sake or ours.” Joseph’s forehead furrowed, the lines of his face deepening. “Myra needs all the support she can get right now. This worrying about the boppli . . .” He let that trail off.
“I know,” Samuel said softly. “I am praying about it, too.”
Joseph nodded, the corners of his mouth pinching in. “If only there was something I could do to make this waiting easier for Myra. Whenever she sees me looking at her, she puts on this smile like everything is fine. It near to breaks my heart.”
If Joseph could do something, anything, he probably wouldn’t fret so much. It was the inactivity that was eating at him, as much as anything, Samuel guessed. Joseph was used to working hard, dawn to dusk, not sitting in a chair, waiting to heal.
He gestured toward the corn binder’s innards, knowing they made more sense to Joseph than to him. “Can you take a little look at this? Would it do any gut to tear this down already?”