Revealing, The (The Inn at Eagle Hill Book #3): A Novel

by Fisher, Suzanne Woods

  Rose was just about to ask Paisley where her home was, when Sammy came out of the feed room, pushing a wheelbarrow filled with hay. Paisley made a big fuss over him. “You’re such a little boy to be pushing that big wheelbarrow!”

  Rose cringed. She knew how sensitive Sammy was about his small stature. His cheeks turned red and he got flustered and called her Parsley. She laughed the first time, then she got irritated when he called her Parsley a second time.

  “Sammy,” Rose said, “I hear Silver Queen neighing for her dinner. Why don’t you head out to her.”

  Sammy grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow and hurried out the barn door.

  As soon as he was gone, Rose turned to Paisley. “Please don’t embarrass him. He’ll learn your name. It’s just a little . . . unusual.”

  Paisley lifted her eyebrows at Rose and then nodded as if she understood a great secret. “Oh! Tobe didn’t tell me that Sammy was developmentally delayed.”

  “What?” Rose said. “No! Not in the least.”

  Luke came out of the feed room holding two buckets of oats. He walked through the aisle and out the barn door without a word, his face tight. A moment later, Rose heard a bloodcurdling scream come from the front yard.

  “Luke Schrock! What have you done?!”

  Oh dear. Bethany must have returned from the Sisters’ House and seen the quilt hanging on the clothesline. Rose had tried everything she could think of to remove the nail polish from the quilt, but the stain was permanent. She flew outside and dashed to the clothesline. Tending to the horses in the pastures, the boys dropped the feed and came running toward the clothesline with all their might. Bethany stood by the quilt, examining the stain.

  “It wasn’t Luke, Bethany,” Rose said, trying to stave off an explosion of words aimed at Luke. “It was Tobe’s friend, Paisley.”

  Bethany looked like she was trying not to cry. “What? Who?”

  “Her!” Luke pointed to Paisley, walking toward them from the barn, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “And she’s staying in your room.” He was scowling at Paisley as she approached them.

  “That would be me,” Paisley said, with an apologetic smile on her face. “I spilled my nail polish while I was doing my toes.” She stuck a hand out to Bethany, who was staring at her with a baffled look on her face. “Let’s see. You must be Bethany. I’m Paisley. Tobe’s Paisley. He’s told me all about you.”

  Off in the distance, Rose noticed something awry. “The goat!” It had gotten into Silver Queen’s pasture and pulled hay off the wheelbarrow. The buckets, now empty of oats, lay on their sides, abandoned by Sammy. Silver Queen and her colt were helping themselves to the hay. Rose shooed Luke and Sammy off to finish feeding the rest of the stock.

  Rose rubbed her temples. Could this day get any worse?

  8

  Brooke liked Jon Hoeffner. She liked him quite a bit. He was possibly the most charming and easy-to-talk-to man she had ever met. He must be spoken for; a man like him wouldn’t be unattached. Could he?

  She was taken aback when Jon waved to her at the Sweet Tooth Bakery the very next day when she dropped by.

  “Good. I was hoping you’d be here,” he said, and her heart skipped a beat.

  He seemed to be especially fascinated with her work and asked numerous questions, which was so different from other men who only talked about themselves. “But how,” he asked, leaning toward her, resting his forearms on the table, “does restoration differentiate itself from forgery?”

  “It’s entirely different,” Brooke said, trying not to sound a little touchy on the subject. She was still sensitive about the museum curator’s accusation that she had been treading in dangerous waters. “Paintings are like fingerprints—they’re very unique, and for most forgers, there’s simply too much for them to duplicate. People get fooled when they’re only familiar with an artist’s name and not much else. You need to know what an artist’s brushstrokes look like, what his or her favorite subject matters and compositions are, what kinds of mediums, materials, sizes, and formats they usually work in.”

  Jon didn’t seem at all bored, quite the opposite. How refreshing! “I think it’s also important to know what the art looks like from the back, how it’s usually framed, mounted, or displayed, how and where it’s titled or numbered, what gallery it’s been in, what labels it’s likely to have.”

  She paused again, aware she was doing all the talking, giving him an option to change the subject if he wanted. But his eyes were glued on hers and he nodded to encourage her to continue. “Then, of course, there’s signatures. A lot of forgers make the mistake of not studying an artist’s signature. You’d be amazed how many forgers miss something as small as setting the signature where an artist typically locates it.”

  “Signatures?” Jon said, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “You can duplicate an artist’s signature?”

  She smiled. “That’s one of the easiest things in the world for me to do.”

  “And you’ve never gotten caught?”

  She bristled. She could practically feel the hair rise on the back of her neck. “I’m a legitimate art restorer. Besides,” she tore off a bite of her cinnamon roll, “it’s hard to fool someone who knows how to analyze art.”

  “Show me. Can you copy my signature?” He wrote it out on a piece of paper and slid it toward her.

  She picked up the paper and studied his signature, noticing the way he curled his H, closed the circles on his O. He handed his pen to her and she wrote out his signature, then handed it to him.

  “Amazing! It’s . . . nearly identical.”

  She grinned at his response. “It’s easy when you know what you’re looking for.”

  “Yes.” He smiled back at her. “I can see how that would be true.”

  Vera marched into the kitchen where Rose was preparing dinner. “Those boys need to keep quiet. For Paisley’s sake. She’s trying to rest in the living room before supper.”

  “I just sent them outside to play. They’re tossing a ball back and forth.”

  “They’re too loud. They’re always loud. They can’t do anything quietly.”

  Rose was cutting an onion to make chicken soup. With a match, she lit the blue ring of fire on the stove top and placed a big soup pot on the burner. She started to sweat the onion with a little olive oil, then added chopped carrots and celery. “Well, they are boys, Vera. They aren’t doing anything wrong.”

  “It’s not good for her to be stressed. She says her nerves get easily frazzled.”

  “Then why did she arrive at a stranger’s home toward the end of her pregnancy?” Rose added chicken broth to the pot, shredded chicken, noodles, minced parsley. “What could be more stressful than that? She should be with her own family.”

  “She doesn’t have any family. She told me so.” Vera’s lips fit into a tight line. She crossed her arms against her chest. “You will try to treat her nice, won’t you?”

  The soup began to simmer and Rose stirred it with a wooden spoon. “Oh, certainly,” she said, feeling more than a little bit aggravated at all the fuss. As Vera went outside to tell the boys to stop playing so loudly, Rose turned her attention back to making dinner, with enough banging and clanging to shake the teeth loose in Paisley’s head and frazzle her nerves good.

  Finally, Paisley came in from the living room. “Is there any way I can help get dinner ready?”

  Rose looked up from stirring dough for biscuits, surprised and pleased. “Would you wash and dry these dishes?” She tilted her chin to motion toward a small mountain of dirty dishes in the sink.

  Paisley craned her neck to look behind Rose, frowning. “There’s no dishwasher.”

  “No. We hand wash all the dishes.” She set the bowl of biscuit dough to the side and reached for the hot water faucet. Water started to fill the sink as Rose squirted some dish soap into it. She swirled her hand in the water to suds up the soap. “All ready for you.”

  Paisley took a few steps back. “Oh,
bummer. I wish I could help, but I have very sensitive skin.”

  “Sensitive skin?”

  “Yes. Haven’t you ever noticed all the skin lotion commercials on TV? The actors are always redheads. Like me.” She pulled a ringlet out of her ponytail and twirled it around her finger. “Of course you wouldn’t! You don’t have a TV!” She held out her hands. “Anyway . . . my hands need special care or I break out in a terrible rash. I wish I could help. I really, truly do.” She smiled a weak attempt at an apology and went outside to sit on the porch swing in the sun.

  By the time Bethany had moved a few things out of her room to make space for Paisley, she was calming down from the quilt disaster. A tiny little bit. Shootfire! Who was this pregnant Paisley, anyhow? Bethany didn’t like her and didn’t know why the family was welcoming her with open arms. Double shootfire!

  She came downstairs to help Rose get supper ready, but the kitchen was empty. There was something good-smelling on the stove top and Bethany peeked inside, hoping Rose had made a broth-based soup and not that awful cream of mushroom that Mammi Vera was so fond of. Whatever it was, it would need to be stretched tonight. She had learned quite a bit about stretching soups from her weekly meal preparation for the down-and-outers at the Second Chance Café. Stretching a cream soup meant dumping in more cream. You ended up with a bowl of hot salty milk. Disgusting.

  Bethany had seen Jimmy Fisher earlier in the day, and when she heard he would be dropping by Galen’s to talk horses, she invited him for dinner. She peeked out the window, hoping to catch sight of Jimmy, and noticed Paisley walking around on the wooden porch. Then she saw Jimmy come through the hole in the privet.

  Before Jimmy reached the porch steps, Bethany saw him stop abruptly, startled, as he realized there was a stranger on the porch. “Hello,” he said to Paisley, and Bethany leaned closer to the window, opening it up a crack.

  Paisley perked right up and said, in a giggly voice, “Well, hello to you. My, my, my. No one ever told me that I’d be encountering such a handsome man on a dusty old Amish farm.”

  Jimmy grinned that devilish grin of his, which made Paisley practically swoon. She giggled and held out her hand to him. Paisley’s voice dropped to a whisper, but Bethany could tell she was talking up a storm. Jimmy laughed, which made Bethany all the more suspicious of Paisley. If she was so in love with her brother Tobe, then why was she flirting with the first fellow who came along?

  Bethany saw Paisley grab the crook of Jimmy’s arms and cling tightly. She jumped away from the window and plastered a sweet smile on her face as they entered the kitchen.

  “How nice,” Bethany said, trying to keep her voice in check. “I see you’ve met Paisley.” She smiled as sweetly as she could. She took a handful of spoons and grabbed some napkins and put them on the table. “Paisley, perhaps you could help set the table for dinner.”

  Paisley let go of Jimmy as if it took all her strength to pull her hands off him and said she didn’t know the first thing about setting tables, but perhaps Jimmy could help? She flashed her dimples at Jimmy and he quickly jumped to her rescue. In fact, Jimmy ended up setting the table as Paisley giggled and told him how clever he was, and Bethany smoldered as she set out butter and jam for the biscuits.

  As if stomachs had an alarm clock, the boys and Mim appeared in the kitchen. Rose helped Mammi Vera in from the living room.

  “Supper’s ready,” Bethany said. “Paisley, why don’t you sit between Sammy and Luke.” She pointed to a chair to sit in, but Paisley had already darted over to be next to Jimmy.

  “You can sit there, sister Bethany, and mind those two little rapscallions. I’ll keep an eye on this special guy.” Paisley offered Bethany her sweetest smile.

  Jimmy wiggled his eyebrows at Bethany, which only made her all the more annoyed.

  Rose had a belief that many a skirmish could be avoided by the timely appearance of food, but Bethany figured she hadn’t shared a meal with someone like Paisley before. All during dinner, sparks flew between Bethany and Paisley like a house cat in a thunderstorm. Jimmy, Bethany noticed with annoyance, had a foolish grin on his face the entire meal, like he was having a wonderful time.

  Later that evening, after Rose had cleaned up the kitchen from supper, she heard a knock at the kitchen door and opened it to find Galen smiling down at her, handsome in a black coat and trousers, with Paisley hanging on to his arm. “I just met your newest guest.” His voice was happy sounding, but his face was curious and stunned.

  As they walked through the door, Galen unhooked Paisley’s hand from his and stood near Rose.

  Paisley flashed him a saucy smile. “I just can’t get over Amish men! Every time I turn around, another dashing fellow appears out of nowhere.”

  Rose saw the look on Galen’s face go from puzzled and amused to wary and cautious. He ignored Paisley’s overly effusive comment and turned to Rose. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

  “Absolutely.” She grabbed a shawl off the wall peg and noticed Paisley’s mouth open as if she was going to invite herself along and quickly closed the door behind her. Paisley would have to fend for herself. Something, Rose suspected, she was probably quite good at.

  With the barest turn of the head, Galen said, “I’ve been told you had an eventful day.”

  “Indeed it was. I’ll tell you about it on the way. Who told you?”

  “Jimmy filled me in before he headed home tonight.”

  There was still some fading light left in the sky as they walked behind the house toward the ridge. From somewhere far off came the bellowing of a cow. The chickens had gone to roost in the henhouse, and the chill of evening had begun settling in. Once they had reached the trail that led up the hill, Galen reached out and took Rose’s hand.

  “I thought you already had a guest using the flat.”

  “She’s not a guest of the inn. She’s a guest . . . of the family.”

  “She’s staying in the house?”

  “At least for tonight. She says she’s a friend of Tobe’s.”

  Galen’s eyebrows lifted sharply.

  “I sent a letter to Tobe to find out if he does, indeed, know her.”

  Galen tilted his chin. “Why is she here? She looks like she’s about to . . . fresh.” Color rose in his cheeks.

  “Good grief, Galen. She’s not a cow. She’s a woman. I’m . . . not exactly sure why she’s here. Why now.”

  Understanding filled Galen’s eyes. “So she’s carrying Tobe’s child?”

  Rose yanked her hand out of his and wrapped the shawl tightly around her. “There’s no proof that her baby is Tobe’s. Only Paisley’s word. We’ve never seen her before in our lives. I tried calling the prison to see if I could get word to him, but it wasn’t possible. My letter to him won’t even arrive until midweek. Until then, it seems best to be hospitable to the girl.”

  “Why would she make such a thing up?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  “I . . . can’t quite read her. I don’t trust her.” She walked up the ridge trail ahead of him. “Galen, are you going to tell Naomi what I’ve told you?”

  “Is it a secret?”

  “Yes. No. I just . . . would rather wait until I hear something from Tobe.”

  “But why should it matter to Naomi whose baby it is?”

  She stopped and spun around. “You must be joking.”

  Galen looked at her blankly.

  “You must realize Tobe and Naomi have some kind of understanding.”

  He shook his head, a little too forcefully. “No, they don’t. You’re mistaken.”

  “Galen, you think of Naomi as a child. She’s a grown woman. She’s old enough to make her own choices.”

  “Tobe might be interested in her, but she has too much sense to—”

  “To fall for a Schrock?” That wasn’t fair. She regretted saying it as soon as the words spilled out of her mouth.

  He looked hurt. “That’s not what I was going to
say.”

  “I know you have doubts about Tobe. Naomi knows that too. But you can’t predict who you’ll fall in love with, can you? No wonder she can’t talk to you about their relationship.”

  “Relationship? He’s in jail! They don’t have a relationship.”

  “Once you see Naomi and Tobe together, I believe your doubts will vanish.”

  “No, I don’t think so, Rose.” Galen offered a shaky smile. “Why are we talking about such a thing on a beautiful night like tonight?”

  They walked up to the ridge in silence, each alone with their own thoughts, a wedge between them. As Rose tried to cope with all the day had brought, she was glad she had come to the top of the ridge to stargaze on this dark night. The clouds kept racing across the moon like smoke from a fire. Drinking in the beauty of a night sky always reminded her of the infinite majesty of God and the finite trivialness of her problems. God was bigger than any problem life could throw at her.

  She leaned against him and he put his arm around her.

  “Can I do anything? I’d do anything to help.”

  “I know you would.” And Rose did know.

  The next afternoon, Naomi walked over to Eagle Hill to see if Bethany wanted to ride with her to the Sisters’ Bee over at Edith Fisher’s house.

  Bethany came out of the door before she reached the porch, an anxious look on her face. “Did Galen tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  Bethany glanced at the house. “Jimmy didn’t say anything?”

  The pinched look on Bethany’s face worried Naomi. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, really. Well, something is wrong, actually. Someone is terribly wrong, I suppose you could say. And I’d rather you hear it from me first.” She sat down on the porch steps and patted a spot next to her for Naomi. “A girl showed up out of the blue yesterday.” She pointed to a rusty car that was blocking the driveway.

  Micky ran up to Naomi and curled up beside her. “A new guest?” she said, stroking his big head. She loved this silly dog.

  “No, not a guest at the inn. She says she’s a friend of Tobe’s.”