by Marta Perry
She smiled in return. “I seem to recall you often needed someone to do that.”
“Good thing I had people who cared enough about me to do it.”
She suddenly realized that she was at ease with him. With who he was now, not just thinking about who he used to be. That was another step forward, wasn’t it?
• • •
“That’s all you managed to get this week?” Stacie’s voice was sharp.
Maybe she had honestly expected more interviews from Leah. Or perhaps her current ill will had been caused by having seen Leah in conversation with Johnny.
“I had other responsibilities this week.” She had no intention of betraying to Stacie that some of those responsibilities had involved Johnny. “And now that I’m going to the farther-off homes, I can’t do as many in a day.”
“If you took a car, you could do more.”
Stacie seemed to have forgotten that she was a volunteer. “I’m afraid I can’t afford to hire a car each time I make a visit.”
Stacie looked momentarily abashed. “No, I guess not.”
She frowned down at the forms for a moment, but Leah had the feeling she wasn’t really concentrating on them. Her lips were pressed tightly together, as if she were holding something back.
She flipped a page over and slapped her hand down on it. “Maybe if you weren’t spending so much time with John, you’d be able to accomplish more.”
For a moment Leah stared at her. How open could she be with Stacie? She didn’t know anything about Stacie’s background or family, and she couldn’t imagine how she’d lived her life.
But the emotion she felt now was surely common enough to both Amish and English.
“I’m afraid you have a mistaken idea about the two of us.” Leah kept her voice quiet, not wanting to be seen as confronting the woman. “There is nothing between John Kile and me but an old friendship.”
Stacie’s eyes narrowed. “Is that why he went off someplace to meet you the other day?”
So Stacie had somehow gotten hold of that, but she obviously didn’t know that the meeting had been between John and his sister, not between John and Leah. It was easily explained, but if John hadn’t chosen to confide in her, Leah could hardly do it for him.
“That was not . . .” She hesitated, not sure what to say. “That was not personal. I’m still close with his family, you know.”
Stacie sniffed. “Tell that to someone who might believe it. The only reason you’re here is John.”
Funny, she was getting the same response from the English at the clinic as she had from some of her own people. But she didn’t feel like laughing.
“John is the person who asked me to volunteer, that’s true,” she said carefully. “But I’ve continued with it because it’s important work, not because he’s here.”
Stacie slapped her hands down on the desk in the gesture that seemed to be habitual with her. “Maybe you really believe that, or maybe you don’t. But I’ve seen the way John looks at you.” Her face twisted a little, and she was suddenly vulnerable. “He has feelings for you.”
“No. No, he doesn’t.” All she could think was to deny it. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be, because if it was, her life would be complicated beyond belief.
Stacie ran her fingers through her hair, shaking her head. “Okay, maybe you really haven’t seen it. But trust me, he’s completely different when he talks to you than he is with anyone else.”
Relief washed through Leah. “But that is because we are old friends. The bond between us goes deep. And I am Amish.”
Stacie shrugged. “So what? He gave all that up years ago.”
It seemed impossible to make Stacie understand, but she had to try. “He left the church, but a person can’t stop being Amish so easily. If you met someone who’d grown up in . . . in Africa, for example, you wouldn’t expect that person to be able to turn off how he was raised in the flick of a switch, would you?”
“I guess not.” The admission was grudging. “But John didn’t grow up in another country.”
“His life is closer to that than to anything else you might imagine. He didn’t learn English until he went to school, for instance. All the things you take for granted”—she waved her hand toward their surroundings—“the computers, the television, the cell phones, the constant information about the outside world. Try to imagine growing up without ever being exposed to that.”
“I can’t.” Stacie’s gaze met hers, and for the first time, there seemed to be no antagonism in it. “I guess that means I can’t ever really understand him.”
“You care about him.” Leah said the words softly. “That’s all that’s important.”
Stacie shook her head a little sadly. “I used to think that. But he doesn’t seem to see me that way. And nothing you’ve said changes the fact that he has feelings for you. Not for me.”
“No.” Denying it might not convince Stacie, but maybe it would reassure her. Because if Johnny really did have feelings for her—
A flicker of panic went through Leah. She couldn’t deal with that. Not again.
• • •
Daniel smoothed the sheet over Elizabeth’s shoulders. Her face was relaxed in sleep, clearly visible in the light of the full moon pouring through her bedroom window.
She stirred a little, as if she felt his touch, and then slipped deeper into slumber. Heart full, he turned and walked softly across the hall to check on his sons.
Jonah slept on his side, one hand under his pillow. But Matthew knelt by the window, a piece of paper in front of him on the sill.
“Was ist letz?” Daniel whispered, tiptoeing to the window. “What’s the matter? Why are you still awake?”
Matthew moved his hand over the paper. “The moon is so bright, I couldn’t go to sleep.”
Daniel knelt beside the boy, resting his hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “What are you writing?”
He could feel tension in his son. “It’s a drawing.”
“A drawing of what?”
Matthew hesitated. Finally he pushed the paper over to Daniel. “For when we bring the hay in next time. To use with the generator, is all. Not electric.”
For a moment Daniel struggled to keep from crumpling the paper. Would the boy’s interest in mechanics never leave? He took a deep breath, trying to come up with the right thing to say.
Matthew must have sensed his negative reaction. He pulled back. “It’s not electric, Da.”
He wanted to shut down the idea. But even as his hand tightened on the paper, he seemed to hear Leah’s voice in his head, telling him to listen, to talk, to explain instead of order.
He smoothed the paper out, studying the detailed drawing, and his admiration for his son grew. How many ten-year-olds could come up with something like this?
“I see.” He tried to sound neutral. “What made you think about this? Because you like machines?” Things that pull you toward the English world?
Matthew eyed him warily. “It’s hard to run the farm mostly by yourself, with only me. Jonah’s too little to do much. I thought this would help us do more.”
For a moment Daniel couldn’t speak. His throat was too tight.
He ruffled his boy’s hair, feeling the fine strands under his fingers. “That’s smart thinking, Matthew.”
The tension left the boy’s face. “You think so, Daadi? It’s not against the Ordnung. Even the Beilers use one, Mahlon says.”
“I know.” He hesitated. Leah would say this was a moment he should use to teach his son. “You understand why some things are against the Ordnung, don’t you? Because they might take us away from our family and our church, or connect us too much to the outside world. The rules aren’t meant to punish us, but only to keep us from being worldly. You understand?”
Matthew studied on it for a moment. “It’s ha
rd, isn’t it, to figure out why some things are okay and some aren’t?”
Daniel nodded. “That’s why the whole church will talk and talk about a new thing, trying to figure out what God’s will is for us, until Bishop Mose helps us come to an understanding.”
Matthew nodded slowly, and Daniel had the sense that he was pondering something deeper.
“Daadi—” He stared down at his hands, clasping the windowsill. “Is that why you didn’t try to get us back?”
Daniel’s heart stopped, as if it had turned to a chunk of lead in his chest. “Is that—” He had to stop and clear his throat. “Is that what you think? That I didn’t try to find you?”
He hadn’t talked about it when they’d come home, thinking that it would be like probing an open wound. Better to try to forget, he’d told himself. But Matthew, at least, hadn’t forgotten.
“Did you?” Matthew glanced at him then.
“I looked,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You know that we don’t go to the law to settle disputes among ourselves, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t look. I thought, if I could find you, maybe I could talk to your mamm about coming home.”
Should he have done more? Could he have? The questions haunted him.
“Matthew, didn’t you know I loved you and would look for you?”
Matthew’s gaze met his then, his eyes wide in the moonlight. “I thought so. But Joe—he was one of Mammi’s friends—he said you’d have forgotten about us, and when you didn’t come—”
Daniel grabbed his son, pulling him tightly against him. “I love you.” He muttered the words against the boy’s silky-fine hair. “Don’t ever think that I could forget you. I never stopped thinking about you for a single moment when you were gone.”
Matthew’s arms wrapped around him. “I missed you, Da.”
“I missed you, too.” He kissed his son’s forehead. “But now you’re here, and we’re together.” He cupped Matthew’s face in his hands, looking at him seriously. “Always. I promise.”
Matthew nodded, a smile trembling on his lips. “Always.”
Daniel blinked away tears. “Ser gut,” he said softly. “Now I think you should be in bed.”
Matthew stood and then paused, turning toward the window. “Daadi, that sounds like a buggy on our lane.”
The boy’s ears, quicker than his, had caught it first, but now he could hear the clop of hooves and the creak of a buggy. Who would be coming at this time of night?
“To bed with you. I’ll take care of it.” He started toward the door, mind churning. People didn’t come calling this late on a summer night. Was something wrong?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A sound woke Leah from the fringes of sleep. She shifted in the bed, puzzled. What had that been? Not one of the usual noises, or it wouldn’t have wakened her.
Moonlight still poured through the window, so it wasn’t very late. It felt as if she’d just gotten to sleep, in fact. Perhaps it was Anna, coming home. Had Daad talked to her yet? What had he said? More importantly, would it do any good?
She shoved her heavy braid back over her shoulder and settled her head on the pillow again. If it was Anna, Leah wouldn’t get any thanks for showing concern.
The sound came again, but this time, awake, she could identify it. Gravel. Someone had thrown a handful of gravel at her window.
She slid from the bed and ran barefoot to the window, her heart thudding. She wasn’t a seventeen-year-old, expecting a sweetheart to wake her for a late-night talk. Something was wrong.
She shoved up the window and leaned out. Below her, silhouetted clearly in the moonlight, stood the horse and buggy Anna had taken when she’d left tonight. Anna was a huddled, dark figure on the seat.
A man stood looking up at her window, his face a pale oval in the moonlight. It was Daniel.
If he spoke, she couldn’t hear him for the rush of blood thudding in her ears. “What’s happened? What’s the matter?” She whispered the words, praying no one else would hear.
Daniel seemed to glance at the other windows of the sleeping house, then at the figure on the seat. Anna didn’t move. He looked up at her again and gestured for her to come down.
She waved to signify that she understood. Ducking back inside, she grabbed a shawl from its hook and threw it around her. No time to worry about her hair, tumbling in a braid to her waist, or her bare feet and nightgown. Something had happened to Anna.
She fled silently down the stairs, her mind a jumble of prayers. Please, Father, please, Father, help her. Help us.
No sound broke the stillness of the house as she hurried through the kitchen to the back door. Levi and Barbara were sound sleepers, and their windows faced the other way. And Mamm and Daadi were staying at Joseph and Myra’s tonight to get an early start going to market tomorrow, so the daadi haus was empty.
She swung the door open carefully, mindful of its creak, and hurried across the porch and down the steps to where Daniel waited.
“What are you doing here? What’s happened to Anna?” She threw the questions toward him in a hoarse whisper as she hurried past him to the buggy. “Anna—” She reached for her sister.
Anna, slumped against the seat, didn’t stir. She turned to Daniel, furious that he just stood there. “She’s hurt or sick—”
“She’s drunk,” he said, his voice low and flat. “Asleep by now, and you won’t be able to wake her anytime soon.”
Not content with his explanation, she climbed the buggy step to get close to her sister. “Anna,” she said again, pulling at her arm.
Anna moved her head a little, seeming to attempt to rouse herself, and then sank back against the seat again, letting out a small snore. With it came the stench of alcohol.
Leah stared at her for a long moment. Then she stepped down again, turning to Daniel. She could only pray that in the dim light, he wouldn’t be able to tell how embarrassed she was.
The horse shifted a little, probably wondering why he was standing here instead of being turned into his comfortable stall. The crickets, their noise interrupted for a few moments by the goings-on, began their ceaseless chirping again.
She took a breath. “How is it you’re bringing her home?” Daniel would hardly have been wherever it was Anna had been drinking.
“I heard her buggy coming down my lane.” He stepped closer, whispering. “She near enough put it in the ditch before I got to her.”
Tears stung Leah’s eyes—for her sister and the trouble she was in, for herself and her inability to protect Anna. “Denke,” she murmured. “It is kind of you—”
“That can wait.” He clasped her wrist, holding it loosely in one strong hand. “We’re got to get her settled before the whole house is awake. Can we get her to her room?”
Why he was helping, when he so clearly disapproved of Anna, she couldn’t imagine, but she was grateful. She’d never be able to manage on her own.
“No.” Her mind raced. “The daadi haus. My parents are away for the night. If we can get her in there, she’ll be all right for the moment.” She turned, starting to climb into the buggy. “I’ll get her—”
Daniel clasped Leah by the waist and lifted her down. “She’s too heavy for you.” He climbed up in one long stride, leaned over, and slid his arms around Anna, pulling her to the edge of the seat and then lifting her down.
She lolled in his arms like a rag doll, her unbound hair falling to cover her face.
Anna, what were you doing? Where is this going to end?
“This way.” She led the way quickly across the grass toward the daadi haus, safely away from the vicinity of Levi and Barbara’s bedroom. She was thankful, in a numb sort of way, for his help. She could never have carried Anna’s dead weight on her own.
They went quickly up the stairs, with a little less need to be silent here. Leah pushed open the door to the smal
l extra bedroom, thanking God that the moonlight was still so bright. She hadn’t had to put on the gas lamps and risk waking anyone.
Daniel carried Anna’s inert figure to the bed and put her down. She wore English clothes, of course. Blue jeans and sneakers, with a knit shirt so short it showed a strip of bare skin.
Leah pulled a coverlet over Anna. She’d have to get her changed, but that could wait until she’d gotten rid of Daniel. He’d seen enough of her family’s troubles for one night.
She straightened, well aware that it was impossible to look dignified in her bare feet and nightgown, with her baby sister lying there drunk.
“You’ve been most kind, Daniel. I’m grateful. I can take care of everything now.”
And if he’d just go away home, she could stop wondering what he must think of them.
Not that it was all that unusual for Amish boys to have a drink too much during their rumspringa, but folks were much less likely to turn a blind, indulgent eye when it was a girl.
If Daniel was aware of her embarrassment, he gave no sign. “I’ll take care of the horse and the buggy for you. You’ll have your hands full enough here.”
Was there no end to the things for which she would owe him gratitude?
“It’s gut of you,” she said, clasping her hands together to still their trembling. “I don’t want to keep you away from the children any longer—”
“My mamm is there, remember?” He turned away, giving her the ghost of a smile. “I’ll tend to things outside, and then I’ll come back to the daadi haus porch. Come down if you can, just to let me know everything is all right.”
She managed to nod, managed to smile. But she didn’t think “all right” was going to describe anything about her life very soon.
• • •
Anna didn’t wake as Leah pulled off her clothes, finding the task harder than she’d expected as she fumbled with the unaccustomed fastenings. Finally she got the jeans off and pulled one of Mamm’s nightgowns over Anna’s head.
How they were going to explain Anna being in the daadi haus, she didn’t know, but that was a problem for later. Now she had to see Daniel again and send him off home.