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

by Fisher, Suzanne Woods

  With a jolt, she thought of Dean’s first wife, Tobe and Bethany’s mother, whom she knew little about. Dean rarely mentioned her, nor did Vera. All that Rose knew of Mary Miller Schrock was that she abandoned her young children, divorced Dean, and left someone else to pick up the pieces of a shattered family. Two years later, Rose became that someone.

  She cringed, feeling an odd foreboding.

  Whoever that fourteenth cousin twice removed thought he was, he still needed to have his sheets changed and wastebasket emptied. The day came when Bethany was fed up waiting for him to show himself. She found a screwdriver and pins and jimmied the lock open to the second-floor guestroom. She turned the knob and cautiously opened the door. She couldn’t believe it. She walked slowly into the room. From the unmade bed to the clothes that littered the floor, the room was in complete chaos. Candy wrappers, gum wrappers, old newspapers, soda cans, crumpled dinner napkins, tin foil, cookies, and crackers.

  Clothing lay in a soiled heap in the corner. The bed was full of crumbs. The remains of a sandwich lay on the pillow, and an open bag of potato chips had been shoved under the blanket. Nothing had been washed or cleaned since the day the old sisters’ fourteenth cousin twice removed had arrived.

  Well, she thought, as she stripped the bed, if she had any doubts about his connection to the sisters before today, the condition of this room squelched them. The fourteenth cousin twice removed fit right in with his elderly relatives.

  Mim arrived at the schoolhouse early one morning and put her books in her desk. On top of her desk was her “What Pennsylvania Means to Me” essay that she had labored over, graded and returned: B- in big fat red ink.

  She slunk into her seat, disappointed and frustrated, angry with Danny Riehl, who thought he was so smart. She opened her desk and was startled to find a red rose—the first of the season, lying on top of her neatly folded and freshly laundered apron-turned-rope that saved the cow in the ditch. There was a card attached:

  A boy met a girl as sweet as caramel,

  Of all the girls, he thought she was the pinnacle,

  But she thought he was quite unbearable.

  To win her hand, he would need help from . . . Mrs. Miracle.

  Mim gasped! Then . . . cringed. Trust Jesse Stoltzfus to make this into a big, big deal. She knew he was going to torture her over the identity of Mrs. Miracle. She ripped up the note and scrunched up the rose and stomped to the garbage to throw them away. That Jesse Stoltzfus! He was a loathsome creature. When she turned around, Danny was peering at her with a curious look on his face. “Everything all right, Mim?”

  “No! It’s not all right. My paper should be an A.” She cringed again. Did she really just say that?

  He was very Teacher Danny now, sitting at his desk, peering down at her. “I gave you a B- because I believe you can do better.”

  A few children came into the classroom and put their lunch boxes on the shelf that lined the back wall. Danny glanced at them and lowered his voice. “We can talk about your essay after school, if you like.”

  She didn’t like. She felt just as mad at him as she did at Jesse Stoltzfus. Even madder. Her essay was excellent. Just excellent. He was being intentionally hard on her and she didn’t know why.

  When Jesse came into the classroom, she purposefully ignored him, though she doubted he noticed. He was too busy crowing to Luke and Mose over the A+ on his stupid essay. When he passed by her desk, he whispered, “B minus?” turned, and wiggled his eyebrows at her. She snapped her head away from his goofy face.

  Why couldn’t there be another girl in her grade? Or seventh grade. Sixth, even. She was surrounded by horrible, terrible, abominable boys.

  On the way home from school that day, she stopped at a horse trough in the field of the nearly-falling-down barn and leaned over to look at her face in the water. “This face,” she said, “belongs to someone who can write well enough to have her own advice column in a newspaper, despite what Teacher Danny seems to think. And she has pluck. And this is me, Mim.” She stopped. Jesse was right. Mim was no name for someone who could write as well as she could. “Miriam.”

  What a day. She had been given her first rose, was humiliated by Danny Riehl and mortified by Jesse Stoltzfus. What a day.

  Rose, Paisley, and the baby returned to Eagle Hill that evening, barely twenty-four hours after the baby had been born. The house was quiet; Vera, Mim, and the boys had gone to bed, Bethany was out with Jimmy Fisher, and Rose was thankful for a quiet entry. There would be time tomorrow for everyone to ooh and aah over the baby.

  Paisley went straight upstairs to bed. Rose hadn’t heard anyone come into the kitchen but suddenly looked up and found Naomi standing by the doorjamb, looking at the tiny baby sleeping in the Moses basket in the corner. In her arms was a small pink baby quilt she had just completed.

  “I had a feeling the baby was a girl,” she said, a shy smile on her face.

  Somehow, that didn’t surprise Rose. Naomi was known for those kinds of presentiments. Rose wasn’t sure if she had a unique gift or if she just listened to her intuition better than most. “The baby quilt is her first gift, Naomi.” She took the quilt from her and laid it on the table. One-inch squares of pink fabrics in varying shades were perfectly cut, sewn, and quilted with Naomi’s precise stitches. “What a treasure you’ve given her.”

  But Naomi wasn’t even listening. She was transfixed by the baby. That intense look she had on her face—well, for the first time, Rose noticed how she and Galen resembled each other. Naomi’s hair was coffee-brown, like his was, her face was angular like his, though their eyes were a different color, and her features were far less classically attractive than her brother’s. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was. She had the beauty of happiness.

  “Can I pick the baby up?” Naomi whispered softly, as if she were standing on hallowed ground.

  “Of course,” Rose told her. “Her name is Sarah.”

  She watched as Naomi lifted the tiny baby nervously, almost shyly, and held her to her chest. She said nothing, just walked around the downstairs in a big loop. She mumbled something soft, a prayer or a poem or a tuneless lullaby—Rose couldn’t make it out. Naomi’s hold on the baby was sure, her love obvious.

  After Naomi left, Rose went into Paisley’s room with the baby. Seeing that Paisley’s eyes were open, Rose started to take the baby to her, but she turned away to face the wall. Rose took the baby to her own room to lie down for a while. She was afraid to trust Sarah with her mother yet.

  She dozed lightly, wakened by the baby whimpering, and went downstairs to warm a bottle for her before Sarah started to cry. She sat in the rocker and held the baby against her, reminded of those exhausting days with her own babies: of Mim and of Luke and Sammy. How had she survived them? She remembered feeling too tired to rise.

  When the baby had taken all she would from the bottle, Rose wrapped her tightly in a swaddle, the way babies like best, and sat down to rock her to sleep. The moon was full, sending streaming beams of light into the living room.

  Little Sarah fell sound asleep, tucked against her breast. She stroked the baby’s wispy tuft of dark hair. Was it her imagination or did the baby look more helpless and alone than any other child? As if she knew she was motherless and fatherless from the moment she had come on earth. “You could be worse off,” Rose whispered. “Your mother’s a fool not to want you, but maybe she was smart to wait until she got to people who would look after you.”

  But it wasn’t really smarts, Rose feared—Paisley just didn’t care.

  13

  The full moon flooded Naomi’s bedroom with yellow light, as bright as day. She wasn’t asleep. She couldn’t sleep tonight. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the baby at Eagle Hill Farm. There was something about her that deeply touched her.

  When she held the baby for the first time, she had gazed down into Sarah’s little face, and Sarah gazed back at her, her eyes large and shiny. Trusting.

  A silent communi
cation had passed between them in that moment, deep and heartfelt.

  Naomi had breathed in deeply that sweet newborn smell. Sarah’s neck was so small and fragile looking. Her skin was soft and she smelled better than any human being Naomi had ever been near. Unexpected pleasure stole over her. She understood, suddenly, why everything that mothers went through—the long nights, the endless crying, the daily weariness—was worth the sacrifice to them.

  Naomi’s thoughts drifted to her own mother, long gone, knowing that her mother must have held her in the same way. Her throat swelled and tears rushed to her eyes, but she kept up the gentle motion she had watched Rose use with Sarah to rock her to sleep. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  The baby’s eyes held innocence and a sort of uncanny wisdom. They continued to look at each other for a long stretch, then Sarah’s lids grew heavy and fluttered shut. Rose told Naomi to set the baby in her basket to sleep, but she couldn’t bring herself to let her go. She had ended up staying in that rocker for hours.

  An owl hooted once, then twice. Naomi should try to sleep. She rolled onto her side to face the wall, away from the bright window. A faint sense that she had forgotten something needled the back of her mind. What was it? Something definitely was missing. Had she left something over at Eagle Hill?

  And then it hit her. The thing that had disappeared? Her anxiety. Gone, like a wisp of steam from a teacup. Vanished into thin air.

  Her stomach? Settled. Headache? None. Nerves? Steady. Heartbeat? Normal. Breathing? Calm and relaxed.

  Astonished, she thought of Sarah, sleeping peacefully in her arms this evening. She’d done this, she realized. This tiny gift of a baby had stilled the roiling inside of her. This little person she scarcely knew and already loved.

  “I’m going to help you, Sarah,” she whispered aloud, as if the baby were still in her arms and could understand her words. “Your mother brought you to us, for whatever reason, and it’s the right place for you. I’m going to help you. You’re safe here.”

  Naomi released a deep sigh, and fell asleep.

  The next morning, Rose sat on the porch swing, holding the baby in the morning sunlight. The nurse had suggested that the baby get some sun each day to help combat jaundice.

  “Hey there.”

  She looked up to see Galen, a gentle smile lighting his eyes. “Well, hello.” She lifted her arms slightly. “Meet our newest houseguest.”

  He came up on the porch and moved some papers to sit beside her on the swing. He held out a finger for the baby to grab on to. “A special baby.”

  “Yes. A special child.” She smiled at the way Galen was gazing at the baby. He was such a masculine man, all angles, no nonsense—but his face was now soft and tender. To see the baby’s little hand grasping his strong finger touched her heart.

  He glanced at the papers on the porch swing. “Hospital bills?”

  The baby closed her eyes, drifted to sleep. “Yes,” Rose said. “Paisley had them all billed to me.”

  “Well, don’t worry about them now,” Galen said. “Have a little faith.”

  Rose wanted to have that kind of faith. She truly believed anything was possible with God. “I think it will take a miracle to get those bills paid.”

  “We could have a benefit to raise money.”

  “I can’t ask Bishop Elmo for yet another benefit for the Schrock family.”

  “Sure you can. That’s what we do for each other.” He nudged her. “You would do it for anyone else.”

  True, but somehow, it was always easier to give than receive. “Naomi’s been a wonderful help. Yesterday she was here all evening, then again this morning.”

  “She likes babies.”

  The baby startled awake and Rose transferred her to her shoulder. “Naomi is so remarkably mature.” She was like her brother in that way. Mature beyond her years. She glanced at Galen. “I can’t imagine what must be running through her mind about Tobe.” The moment the words left her mouth, she wished them back.

  He flashed her a look of impatience. “You’re looking for something that isn’t there. Naomi has never even mentioned Tobe. Probably doesn’t even think twice about him.”

  Annoyed, she rose to her feet. “Galen, you’re the only one who doesn’t think twice about Tobe.” She passed the baby to him. “I need to go get a bottle ready. Hold her for a moment, will you?”

  “Me?” His voice sounded almost . . . frightened.

  She smiled and her irritation with him dissolved. Imagine that. Galen King was intimidated by a little six-pound baby.

  Bethany came outside to feed the hens and was startled to see Galen King on the porch swing, holding the baby as if she were made of spun sugar. He looked up when he heard the door open, a shy, embarrassed smile cracking his face, as if he’d been caught.

  “I have some news about Lodestar,” he said, quickly passing the baby to her.

  Bethany couldn’t read anything in his demeanor. Galen was such a steady man that good and bad news would probably sound the same, something to be dealt with either way. She sat down on the porch swing to hear what he had to say, awkwardly shifting the baby into her other arm as the baby started making mewling sounds. She wasn’t accustomed to newborn babies and had only met this one an hour ago. Where was Rose with that bottle, anyway?

  “A farrier knew of a horse that was being used as a mini-backyard breeding factory. The farrier was called out to keep his hooves trimmed on a regular basis. He didn’t know the owner and was concerned he might not get paid if no one was around during the shoeing, so he asked to be paid in advance.”

  “What makes you think it could be Lodestar?”

  “He described the horse’s unusual looks—that long flaxen mane, the golden coat—from the sound of it, it resembled Lodestar. But I can’t be sure.”

  Bethany sat up in the porch swing. “Let’s go find out.”

  “Now, hold on. There’s more to the story. The horse has been kept in a pasture with an electric fence surrounding it. The farrier said the first time he trimmed his hooves, everything was in order. But the second time, the horse looked thinner, dirty and unkempt, like no one was taking care of him. And this last time, the farrier found him in really bad shape. Ribs showing, living in filth, bad water in the rain bucket. Hoof rot too, so he wasn’t able to shoe him.”

  Her heart was beating fast. “Galen, we need to rescue him!”

  “It’s more complicated than just going and getting him. I’m not even positive it is Lodestar. Besides, the farrier is involved. He said he called Equine Rescue and they’re going out this week to check on the horse.”

  “Could we ask the farrier to take us out to see the horse? Just to see if this horse might be Lodestar?”

  “I suppose we could.” He took off his hat. “On one condition. I didn’t tell the farrier the whole story—about Jimmy Fisher and Jake Hertzler. I just want to take things one step at a time. If it’s not Lodestar, we just leave the situation alone and let Equine Rescue handle it. We don’t get involved.” He looked right at her. “Is that understood?”

  “But what if it is Lodestar?” The baby’s face scrunched up in distress and Bethany glanced at the kitchen window. Where was Rose?

  Galen gave her a warning look. “We’ll still take things one step at a time.”

  “Okay.”

  He put his hat back on. “You realize we might be walking into trouble, don’t you?”

  Bethany grinned, even as the baby started to howl. “I do. But to quote Jimmy Fisher, some things are worth a little trouble.”

  Mim discovered something new about herself: she did not like babies. In fact, she thought babies were revolting and couldn’t understand why her mother and Naomi practically stumbled over each other as they went to pick Sarah up and soothe her when she started to howl. Babies might not know how to do much, but they sure knew how to scream. And when the baby wasn’t screaming, her mouth was always open and drooling. And those vile diapers! How could anyone so very small need to
be changed ten times a day?

  Nothing felt normal since Paisley had come to Eagle Hill.

  Bethany was preoccupied, her mind seemed a million miles away. Luke was continually in a bad mood and would argue with Sammy at the drop of a hat. Her mother would get upset and send them to their room; she was tired every evening and had no time to talk about school or anything.

  Mammi Vera, usually bleak and mournful, was actually acting a tiny bit happy at having a squawling baby in the house. That, too, wasn’t normal. She was never happy. But Mim noticed that Mammi Vera didn’t offer to change Sarah’s vile-smelling diapers or wipe the drool off her little pink cheeks.

  Mim choked down another bite of oatmeal and wondered if Mammi Vera would notice if she added more sugar. It could be she had already forgotten the first four spoonfuls, but you never knew with Mammi Vera. Some things she forgot right off and others she remembered. Like what someone died from. Old people were always trying to figure out what people died from, or how many sisters and brothers they had and what they died from. That made up half the conversations Mim had to sit through when she helped Bethany at the Sisters’ House.

  She put down her spoon and stared at her oatmeal, thinking of how huffy her mother became a few minutes ago when Mim shared the suspicions and whispers that were buzzing around the school playground about the fatherless baby at Eagle Hill.

  “Suspicions and whispers? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. What kinds of friends do you think we have?” Her mother’s voice shook with anger and Mim was instantly sorry she had brought the subject up. “Three neighbors dropped everything and brought over baby clothes and a crib. Mattie Riehl made a diaper bag and filled it with pacifiers, tiny T-shirts and socks, diapers, bottles, and formula. Galen chopped all that wood for us. Naomi has rocked this baby for hours. Fern Lapp brought supper, and David Stoltzfus offered to do chores as if we’d been friends all our lives.”