by Marta Perry
The silence had stretched on too long between her and Elizabeth, and she’d be having the child worrying if she didn’t say something casual.
“I enjoy having you and your brothers in my class. What do you like best in school, Elizabeth?”
“Playing with Becky,” she said promptly, and then looked up at Leah, her lips forming an O of dismay. “I mean—I like reading best.”
“I like reading, too.” Leah tried to hide a smile. “But it’s all right to enjoy making friends, especially with Becky. Her mother and I were best friends when we were young. We still are, in fact.”
“Becky has a brother, too,” Elizabeth said, as if that sealed the contract between them.
“Perhaps you can go to her house after school one day,” Leah suggested. “I’m sure her mother would like that.”
“That would be nice.” Elizabeth lifted the last dish to the rack. “But I have to take care of things at home.” Her small face was set with determination.
Leah’s heart twisted. Elizabeth seemed too determined to take over all the household chores. Every Amish child accepted that work was a part of life, but children needed time to play as well.
She’d speak to Rachel and make sure that Elizabeth was invited to her house one day. That would be gut for both the little girls.
There was a rattle at the back door, and Leah looked that way just as Daniel stepped into the house. His gaze met hers, and his face stilled, eyes growing wary.
That wasn’t surprising, was it? She undoubtedly looked the same way, with memories of the last time they’d been together sharp in her mind.
“Teacher Leah!” Jonah squeezed around his father and ran toward her, excitement lighting his face. He was too young to think a visit from the teacher anything other than an unexpected treat.
She bent to give him a quick hug. When she looked up again, Daniel had managed to produce a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He had one hand on Matthew’s shoulder. It looked as if without that, the boy would have run back out of the room.
“Wilkom to our home,” Daniel said formally. He and Matthew came into the kitchen, and he looked an inquiry at Elizabeth.
“Teacher Leah brought us rhubarb sauce and snickerdoodles that her mamm made,” she told him. “And we talked while we did the dishes.”
His gaze swung back to Leah, and there was accusation in it. For an instant she could barely control her anger. How could he think that she would question a child under the guise of helping her?
“We talked about how much we like to read,” she said, her voice firm. “And about her friend Becky.”
He nodded, and she thought there might be an apology in his face.
“Elizabeth is our reader,” he said, touching his daughter’s hair lightly. “And Jonah likes to be read to, don’t you?”
Jonah flashed that engaging grin. “I like animal stories best.”
“This year you’ll learn to read some of them for yourself,” Leah told him, relieved that the conversation seemed to have moved into safe channels. “That’s the best thing about first grade.”
“We’ll read a story together tonight after we have some of your mamm’s cookies and some rhubarb sauce,” Daniel said. “It was kind of her to think of us and kind of you to bring them over.”
That sounded like an invitation to leave. She picked up the basket. “I’d best be on my way. I’ll see you in school tomorrow.”
Elizabeth looked suddenly stricken. “But I didn’t serve you anything.”
“I couldn’t eat anything now,” she said quickly. “My mamm will have supper ready when I get home.”
Elizabeth’s lips trembled. “But we should give you something.”
She didn’t know what to say. Elizabeth was so determined to be the perfect hostess that she was on the verge of tears.
“I’m sure Teacher Leah would like some of our fresh green onions to take home,” Daniel said quickly, seeming to understand his small daughter. “We’ll stop at the garden to pull some.”
“That would be a treat,” Leah said. “Ours are not ready yet.”
Elizabeth’s face cleared in an instant, though tears glistened on her lashes. “Be sure and tell your mamm they are from us.”
“I will,” she promised. She glanced from Elizabeth’s tear-drenched eyes to Jonah’s gap-toothed smile to the wary look on Matthew’s face that was almost identical to his father’s.
What happened to you out there in the English world? she asked silently. Why were you there?
• • •
Daniel led the way to the garden, very aware of Leah walking beside him. She hadn’t bothered to put a bonnet on to walk across the field between the farmhouses, and the late afternoon sun lit her hair, turning it the warm yellow of the earliest jonquil.
The silence between them was pulling taut. The longer he waited to speak, the harder it would be.
As it was, Leah got in first. “I did not come to your home to question Elizabeth about anything.”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. She had read him so easily. “I know. I’m sorry.”
They’d reached the edge of the garden, and he stopped, staring at it absently. Too early for much to be ready to pick yet, but the lettuce he’d planted had begun to unfurl the smallest of green leaves above the soil, and the green onions were just about big enough to eat.
Leah waited. He had to say something more. He owed her that, at least.
“I wanted my children to get settled here.” His voice was husky, and he had to stop and clear his throat. “What happened to us, to them—it’s hard. Can’t they get used to their new life before everyone knows?”
He glanced at Leah, and what he saw reassured him. Her green eyes glistened with tears.
“No one will hear about it from me,” she said.
He could breathe again.
“But I could be a better teacher to them if I understood more.”
He’d like to argue the point, but she was right. For some reason that annoyed him. It would be easier if he could tell himself that she was wrong.
“Look at it.” The words burst out of him, and he grasped her arm to turn her, praying she saw what he did when he looked at the fertile fields stretching out all the way to the woods that covered the ridges. “I could not afford a farm like this back in Lancaster County. My father’s farm goes to my oldest brother, which is only right. I came here to give my children a new start.”
“I know.” Warmth infused Leah’s words. “I understand that need.”
He took a breath. “My children were taken from me. They lived two years in the outside world. I got them back four months ago.”
His throat closed. He could not say more. He prayed she could accept that.
He felt a light touch on his arm and looked down into Leah’s face. A tear had escaped to trickle down her cheek.
“I am sorry for your troubles. I’ll do whatever I can for the children.”
The tight band that clutched his throat eased. He nodded. “Ser gut.”
It was more than good, but that was all he could manage. He put his hand over hers in a mute gesture of appreciation.
Her skin was warm against his palm. That warmth seemed to travel through him, startling him so much that his breath hitched.
His gaze met Leah’s. Her eyes had gone wide with a shock that matched his.
He leaned closer, drawn—
“Daadi, did you get the onions?” Elizabeth came running toward them, and her voice was a splash of cold water in his face.
He took a step back, not looking at Leah. “I’m getting them now.” He stooped to pull up an onion, not bothering to see if it was the largest one.
He had to be grateful. His daughter had called out at just the right time to keep him from doing something too foolish to be imagined.
Leah opened the stable door, stepped inside, and raised the battery lantern she carried to drive away the darkness. She gasped, and the lantern nearly fell from her hand.
“What are you doing here?”
Johnny pushed himself away from the stall he’d been leaning against. “Waiting for you.”
Behind him, Betty reached over the stall door to nudge him with her head. She leaned toward Leah, whickering softly.
Johnny nodded toward the mare. “Some things never change. I figured you’d come out to give a good-night treat to your horse.” He brushed at the shoulder of his leather jacket, where the mare had touched him. “What’s her name?”
“Betty.” Carrying the lantern with her, she went to the horse, murmuring to her as she fed her the carrot she’d brought from the house. “I’ve had her for nearly eight years already. She can take me back and forth to the schoolhouse without my touching the lines.”
“She’s in a rut,” Johnny said.
“Then so am I.” Her anger flashed like lightning in a summer sky.
He shrugged. “You said it, I didn’t.”
Her head began to throb. She’d come out to the stable to escape tension, not to find it.
Johnny had one thing right. She was predictable in this habit of hers. She made a last trip to the stable every night. Tonight it had been a reasonable excuse to leave behind the endless discussions about Mamm and Daadi’s move to the daadi haus.
It was happening in less than a week now. Anna should be finding a way to accept the inevitable instead of making everyone’s life miserable. And speaking of making people’s life a misery to them—
“Why are you here?”
It was probably best to stay angry with Johnny, if she could. When she let herself feel sorry for him or start remembering the past, then she was likely to give in and agree to do something she didn’t want to do, just out of pity.
“We have to talk.” He moved next to her, stroking Betty’s silky neck.
“Not here.” She sent an apprehensive glance toward the stable door. “Someone could come in. Someone might have seen you.”
“No one saw me.” Johnny’s hand stilled on the horse’s neck. “I was careful, just like I always was when we used to meet here. Remember?”
There it was—the plea to her memory. She remembered. It would be far better to say that she didn’t, but it would be a lie. So better to say nothing.
Still, he knew. They’d used her habit of visiting her horse every night to steal some quiet time alone together. She’d rush in, a carrot or sugar cube for the mare in her hand, and find him waiting. His arm would encircle her waist, his lips brush her cheek.
They’d been innocent times, but she’d felt guilty, nonetheless, sitting on a straw bale, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder, talking about the future. But it was a future they’d never had.
“You remember,” he whispered, and he was close enough that she’d feel the touch of his breath if he moved another few inches.
“It doesn’t matter.”
She took a step back and was reminded of Daniel, stepping carefully away from her when his daughter called him. For a moment her mind clouded with confusion. Too much was happening, too soon.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said again, more firmly. “I’ve done everything I can for you, Johnny. I cannot change your parents’ minds for them.”
“I can’t believe they refuse to see me.” He turned away with a quick, restless movement. “I’m their only son. How can they treat me this way?”
She forced her heart to harden against him. “You are the one who left.”
“Now I’ve come back. Even the prodigal son had a warmer welcome than this.”
“The prodigal son admitted his wrong and was willing even to be a servant,” she reminded him.
“Is that what you expect of me?” He threw his anger at her.
“I don’t expect anything,” she said. “But I can see what’s in front of my face.”
“And what is that?” The sudden sarcasm that hardened his voice made it easier to feel that this was not the Johnny she knew.
Gut. That would make it easier to say no to whatever it was that had brought him here tonight.
“You want to keep your English life and have the advantages of being Amish, too. You can’t have it both ways. You should know that by now.”
Some emotion crossed his face—regret, she thought.
“Maybe so.” He shook his head. “But that’s not what’s important right now.”
Her stomach clenched. They were getting to it, then. To whatever it was he wanted from her.
“What is important, if not your family’s grief?” Could he dismiss that so easily?
“I accept that I can’t change them, and I’m sorry. But that doesn’t alter the reason why I came back to Pleasant Valley to begin with.”
“Your work at the clinic.” Somehow she’d known they’d get around to it eventually.
“I need cooperation from the families of affected children. They’re not going to open their doors to me.” He paused, his gaze intent. “But they might to you.”
The breath went out of her. She took a step back. “No. I can’t.”
“Of course you could.” He dismissed that with an impatient gesture. “It’s not difficult—it’s just a matter of interviewing the parents and writing down their answers.”
She fought to control her irritation. Did he really think that she’d refused because she thought herself incapable of such a simple task?
“That’s not the point. I’m too busy with my teaching and with the duties I have at home as well. I can’t take on another job.”
“This wouldn’t be a real job. Just volunteer work. You could probably get it done in a few hours a day, plus the travel time, of course.”
“I don’t have a few extra hours in my days.”
“You could wait until after school is out to start,” he countered. “As long as I know that the data will be coming in, I can get to work.”
He was as impatient as always, eager to bend everyone else to suit his needs, and that enthusiasm of his had always had a way of sweeping her along with it. Not this time.
“I can’t,” she said firmly. “There would be too many problems with my family and the church if I were to do such a thing.”
Especially with Johnny involved. There would probably be fewer objections to the clinic than to her seeing so much of him.
He brushed that away with a sweep of his hands. “You’re an adult. You can make up your own mind what to do.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Have you been away so long that you’ve forgotten what it means to be Amish? It is not just a matter of what I might want to do. You can’t judge me by English standards.”
“Fair enough.” He had the grace to look a bit abashed at the reminder. “I won’t judge you, Leah. If you feel you need to consult the bishop about it, that’s fine.”
“No, it’s not fine. I’m not going to work with you on this, Johnny.”
He’d have to make of that what he would. She wasn’t going to put herself in a situation where every day might be spent reliving the past.
He took a quick step toward her, coming into the circle of light from the lantern. His face was set, his gaze steady.
“This isn’t about you and me. This is about those children. You can dismiss me if you want. But can you dismiss them so easily?”
Her heart twisted, thinking of the children she knew who suffered from the genetic diseases. Not as many here, probably, as back in Lancaster County, but even one was too many.
There were two of the Miller children, over near the crossroads, spending hours of the day and night under the special blue lamps that helped the children affected with Crigler-Najjar syndrome. Without a liver transplant
, they’d never be well.
And there were the babies gone in an instant, it seemed, from a form of sudden infant death syndrome, turning a family’s happiest time into one of grief.
Others, some in their own church family, suffered from diseases that seemed to have no known remedy.
No, she couldn’t dismiss the children. The fact that her own siblings and their young ones had escaped the inherited diseases didn’t mean her heart didn’t break each time she heard of a child’s suffering.
She looked at Johnny. He must still know her too well, since he’d stood quietly, letting her think. Knowing where her thoughts had gone.
“How could anything I do help those children? I’m not a scientist.”
“No, but gathering the information is nearly as important as applying the science.” He took a quick step toward her, his face lighting with enthusiasm. “We have the tools to start unlocking the secrets of some of those diseases. But without the cooperation of the families, even those who seem free of the illnesses, we can’t use the tools we have.” He held out his hand to her. “Isn’t that something you’d want to do, if you could?”
She was so tempted simply to agree—to be swayed by his enthusiasm and by the ache in her heart for any hurting child. But she needed to think this through, away from John’s passion about it.
“I’ll think about it.” She lifted the lantern so that she could see his face more clearly, see him start to speak. “No, don’t try to persuade me. Just let me think it over and come to a decision. Surely you can do that.”
He nodded, reluctance in the movement. “All right. But at least come to the clinic and see for yourself the work we’re doing on genetic diseases. There’s no reason not to do that, is there?”
“I’ll think about it,” she said again.
His face fell, but he nodded, maybe seeing that further argument would push her away. “I guess that’s the best you can do. I’ll go now. Thank you for listening, at least.”
He walked to the door, his stride quick and impatient. Slipping out, he turned away from the house so that the open door would shield him from the gaze of anyone looking out the windows.