At Home in Pleasant Valley

by Marta Perry

  No one must know what had happened between her and Gideon. Rachel could only pray no one had seen. Probably the young folks had been far too wrapped up in each other to notice anything about their elders. And surely, if anyone had seen, she’d have intercepted some knowing glances by this time.

  She put the tray down, narrowly avoiding a collision with two running children. When she looked up, Gideon was standing a few feet away.

  Her heart thudded against her ribs. He was going to speak to her, and she’d have to reply without reliving that moment when his lips had touched hers.

  He gave her a curt, unsmiling nod, and walked away, joining a group of men who seemed to be discussing Aaron’s goats, to judge from their gestures.

  Carefully she straightened the tray she’d set on the table, as if the success of the meal depended on its alignment. Gideon’s actions had made it only too clear that he regretted that kiss, regretted it so much, in fact, that he couldn’t even come and greet her properly.

  While as for her—she pressed her fingers hard against the wooden tabletop. For her it had been an awakening. It had brought to life feelings she’d never thought to have again. And now what was she to do with them?

  “Daughter?” Her father touched her arm, and she hadn’t even seen him approaching. “Bishop Mose is coming to speak with us.”

  A taut cord twisted inside her. Never would she expect to dread a conversation with the man she loved so dearly. At least Daadi stood at her elbow, waiting with her.

  “Amos, Rachel,” he greeted them. “A fine day. Everyone is grateful once we can have our meal outside, ain’t so?”

  Rachel opened her lips to reply, but her father spoke first.

  “It might be that you should come to the house to talk to our Rachel.” He stood very stiffly, his lean face seeming drawn against the bones.

  Bishop Mose, on the other hand, looked as relaxed as if there was nothing on his mind but the weather. “Come now, Amos. A call from the bishop is just what I’m trying to avoid. If Rachel and Isaac have a bit of a disagreement, seems to me it’s best to settle it quietly among ourselves, rather than dealing with it in church.”

  To stand in front of the congregation with Isaac, to confess that she was at odds with a brother—anything was better than that.

  “If Isaac Brand thinks—” Daad began, but she put her hand on his arm to quiet him.

  “I agree with Bishop Mose. Much better to settle things quiet-like if we can.” If.

  “That’s gut, that is.” Bishop Mose chuckled a little. “No need for everyone to know what we’re talking about, is there? Now, you just tell me what you have to say. Isaac seems to have a whole list of complaints, but the only one I can see that affects the brotherhood is the idea that you’d sell to an Englischer, instead of one of us.”

  She took a deep breath, trying to compose her mind. “I’m not wanting to sell at all. That’s the thing that has Isaac upset. He feels I can’t run the farm. He wants me to sell it to him for Caleb.”

  For an instant she thought of telling Bishop Mose about the accidents—accidents that could be aimed at convincing her she couldn’t manage the farm. But that would come dangerously close to accusing a brother. She couldn’t. It would be a failure of faith to do so.

  A small frown puckered the bishop’s white eyebrows. “Where does the Englischer come in, then?”

  “Thomas Carver, the dairy owner, offered to buy the herd. He wants only to lease the barn and pastures, not buy.” How many times had she explained this now? “He’s pushing me for an answer.”

  “And do you have one for him?”

  “No.” She met Bishop Mose’s gaze. “It’s not what I want. You know that. But I have to think what will be best for the children.”

  Relief filled his eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses. “Gut, gut. If you haven’t committed to Mr. Carver, let me see what I can do. I’ll talk to Isaac, try to get him to think, see if there’s not some other solution. See that it’s a bad thing, straining the bonds of family over a farm. All right?”

  “Ja.” Her lips trembled, and she pressed them together.

  He patted her hand. “Don’t worry so much. As for your nursery business—well, seems like I’ve invested in that already, ain’t so?” His eyes twinkled. “No one can object when your family is supporting you.” He glanced toward her father.

  For an instant Daad didn’t say anything. Then he took a step closer to Rachel. “Ja. We do.”

  “Well, then.” Bishop Mose studied her face, his callused hand resting on hers. “See if you can make peace with Isaac, child. It’s not gut for brothers and sisters to disagree.”

  “I’ll try.” She would, because she agreed with everything the bishop had said.

  But knowing Isaac, she feared there might be no compromise he’d be willing to consider. Then what? Did she give up her dream to keep the peace?

  • • •

  Gideon came back to work on the windmill the next day as calmly as if nothing at all had happened between them. Rachel was hanging laundry on the line when his buggy pulled in. He slid down, and if he hesitated when he saw that she was outside, he didn’t let it show.

  He started toward her, and Joseph came running from the barn, throwing himself against Gideon’s legs. He used to do that with Ezra, and the memory squeezed her heart.

  “And what are you doing home from school today? Did Teacher Mary kick you out for misbehaving?” Gideon took off Joseph’s hat, ruffled his hair, and clapped the hat back on his head again.

  Joseph giggled. “Teacher Mary wouldn’t do that. She had a meeting today with teachers from all the other schools in the district, so we’re staying home to help Mammi.”

  “Most of the helping so far has involved those goats.” At least the goats made for a safe topic of conversation, and they were eased past the difficult spot.

  “The kids are growing like weeds. They want to eat all the time.” Joseph babbled on about the goats, giving her a moment to catch her breath.

  It didn’t seem to do her much good. She was still staring at Gideon, loving the way he gave Joseph all his attention, and then handing out equal shares to Becky and little Mary, when they came running over.

  Gideon’s quiet stability had always been a counterpoint to Ezra’s livelier nature. Maybe he’d been a bit eclipsed by him. Now she seemed to notice his gentle strength more every day.

  Not that it mattered. Gideon had made it clear that he regretted kissing her. He’d pulled away, and he’d clearly never talk about it.

  Unless she did. The very thought embarrassed her. If she couldn’t think about it without feeling her cheeks grow hot, she’d certainly never do it.

  “Go on now.” She made shooing motions at her children. “Gideon has work to do, and so do you.”

  “You’ll visit Dolly and the kids before you go home, won’t you?” Joseph had to get in one last question.

  “They’re beautiful,” Becky added.

  “Ja, I will.” Gideon slung his tool belt around his waist and fastened it. “Before I go.”

  They ran off, satisfied. Rachel turned back to her sheets, picking one up by the corners and shaking it before starting to peg it to the line. Gideon headed for the windmill, his shoulders maybe a little stiffer than normal.

  The sheet seemed to be wrinkling in her hands, and she shook it out again. She couldn’t. Her cheeks burned again. But she was going to.

  Quickly, before she could change her mind, she dropped the sheet back into the basket and strode across the grass to the base of the windmill.

  Gideon snapped the harness into place before he looked at her. “Is there something wrong, Rachel?”

  “No. Ja.” She stopped, took a breath, tried again. “We should talk about what happened between us at the singing.”

  His fingers gripped the harness for an instant, and
then he went on with his preparation to go up the windmill tower, avoiding her eyes. “Best to forget it.”

  “I don’t want to forget it.” A sharp little edge of anger caught at her.

  “It shouldn’t have happened.” His tone roughened. “That’s all.”

  “No, that’s not all.”

  He didn’t respond, just went on preparing to climb the tower. No doubt thinking that he’d be safe from her harping if he did that.

  “Gideon, listen to me.” Her fingers tingled with the desire to grab his arm and shake him. “It’s one thing if you regret—” She had to stop, swallow. “—if you regret kissing me because you don’t care about me.”

  He jerked as if he’d been hit, and somehow that gave her courage. If what she said could have an effect on him, it was worth saying.

  “But it’s another thing if it’s because of Ezra. We’re both free, and—”

  He swung to face her, and the bleakness in his eyes stole her breath. “I’m not free, Rachel. I’m not.”

  He turned away just as quickly, scaling the windmill tower as if a pack of wolves snarled at his heels.

  She watched him, her nails biting into her hands. He was not free. He was right about that.

  Gideon was imprisoned by his grief and guilt as surely as those early martyrs had been imprisoned by godless governments. It hurt her heart, as much for him as for herself. Unless God worked a miracle in Gideon’s soul, he would never be free.

  Walk away. Get back to work. Don’t let anyone see you watching him with tears in your eyes.

  But even when she’d returned to her wet clothes, she couldn’t keep her rebellious gaze from going back to him.

  He’d reached the platform at the top of the windmill now. He stood there as easily as if he stood on the ground, silhouetted against the sky.

  A violent crack sounded. Almost faster than she could comprehend, the platform crumbled beneath his feet, his body plummeting toward the ground.

  She was frozen, caught as if ice encased her feet, unable to help, to cry out . . .

  The harness caught him, stopping the mad plunge, slamming his body against the windmill frame. He dangled there, limp and very still.

  Had she screamed? Her throat hurt as if she had, and she was running across the damp grass, heart pounding so loud in her ears that she couldn’t hear, couldn’t think . . .

  She reached the windmill tower and clung to it, looking up, shielding her eyes to try to see him against the sun. He wasn’t moving. She couldn’t see his face.

  “Gideon! Are you hurt? Can you hear me?”

  Nothing. She grabbed the first crossbar. Gideon climbed up so easily, it seemed, but could she do it?

  Becky barreled into her, her breath catching on sobs. Joseph came behind her, tears streaming down his face, and then Mary, not understanding what was happening but crying anyway.

  Rachel’s fists clenched. She had to get control of herself, for Gideon’s sake, for the children’s, too. This was not the time to fall apart.

  “Stop the crying, now.” Her voice was so sharp that the children were startled into silence.

  “We must work together now to help Gideon.” Calmly, calmly, don’t frighten them any more. “Becky, you’re the fastest. Run to Onkel Isaac’s and get help. Schnell!”

  Becky nodded and took off across the lawn, her feet flying.

  “What must I do to help Gideon, Mammi?” Joseph stood tall, awaiting her orders.

  “You will help me put the ladder up.” Pray God they were strong enough to raise it. “Mary, you must go back five steps and sit on the ground.”

  Mary sniffled a little, but she did as she was told. Joseph rushed to help her with the ladder. Fortunately the men had left it lying on the ground next to the windmill tower.

  Together they grabbed it. Heavy, it was so heavy. How would they ever get it up?

  Please, God, please, God, give us Your strength.

  Joseph strained, his small face pale. Rachel’s arms screamed with pain as she struggled to raise the ladder. They forced it against the first crossbar.

  “Stop a second. Rest.” She tilted her head back. Was it her imagination, or had Gideon moved? “We’re coming, Gideon. Hang on!”

  “I’m ready, Mammi.” Joseph took his position, hands braced against the side of the ladder. “We’ll get it this time.”

  Please, God.

  She grabbed, pulled, muscles crying. The ladder lifted, swung, and slammed into place against the tower.

  “Gut.” She shook it, making sure it was stable, and started up.

  “Let me come, Mammi,” Joseph cried.

  “Stay where you are. You must be ready, in case I need you to run for anything.”

  Knowing he would obey, she climbed, pressing down the queasiness that cramped her stomach. Gideon needed her.

  A few more rungs brought her within arm’s reach of him. “Gideon.” She reached out, grabbed his arm, and was relieved to feel it warm against her hand. “Answer me.”

  Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head. “What . . .”

  “Hush, now. You’re going to be all right. Just stay still.”

  He blinked, shaking his head and wincing with pain. A huge lump rose on his forehead, and he moved his hand, as if to touch it. His whole body swung at the movement, and awareness and alarm dawned in his eyes.

  “Easy.” How long could the harness hold his weight? Please, please, don’t let it give way. “The platform broke, but the harness is holding you.”

  He moved, as if to assess the situation, and something above them creaked ominously. She didn’t dare take her eyes off him long enough to see what it was.

  “Can you grab hold of the frame with your right hand?”

  He tried to move it and a spasm of pain went through him. “Don’t think so.”

  “It’s all right.”

  She drew him a little closer, so that his left hand could touch the ladder. He fumbled for a moment and then gripped it. She could reach him better now, and she anchored her arm around his waist.

  He tried to pull free. “Don’t want to take you with me.”

  If he fell, he meant. But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

  “Be still.” She spoke as if he were one of the children. “Just be still. Everything will be all right.”

  Let my words be true, Father. Protect us.

  And even as she prayed, she recognized the truth. She didn’t just care about Gideon. She loved him with all her heart.

  “Mammi, they’re coming!” Joseph’s shout was triumphant. “They’re almost here!”

  • • •

  If everyone would stop poking and prodding him, he’d feel a lot better. Gideon tried to evade the light that the paramedic kept shining in his eyes, but the man held his face as if he were a child.

  “I am fine.” His voice sounded husky and uncertain, even to himself. “Just bumps and bruises is all,” he added, putting more force to the words.

  “Let the man examine you.”

  Rachel stood next to the porch steps where he sat. A stranger might think her perfectly possessed, but her eyes bore lines of strain around them, and her hands were knotted under the protective cover of her apron.

  “Ja, that’s right.” Isaac, who’d come racing across the fields, his wagon hastily loaded with a ladder and extra timbers, planted his hand against the porch railing. “You didn’t look but half-alive when we got you down.”

  Fortunately the paramedic didn’t understand Pennsylvania Dutch, so he didn’t know Isaac’s opinion of his condition.

  “Did you lose consciousness at all?” The man tucked the penlight into the pocket of his jacket.

  “I don’t think—” he began.

  “He was out for several minutes.” Rachel cut him off. “As long as it took Joseph and me to get th
e ladder up. He was starting to come round when I reached him.”

  “How you and the boy managed to put that heavy ladder up, I’ll never understand.”

  Isaac actually sounded admiring. Apparently he’d forgotten his quarrel with Rachel in the excitement. Too bad he wouldn’t stay that way—it would save Rachel some heartache.

  “God gave us strength,” she murmured softly.

  By the time the paramedic was finished, a sizable crowd had gathered around—Isaac, William, and Isaac’s two oldest boys had been the first to rush to help, of course. Someone must have sent for Aaron, because he was even now checking out the wreckage of the platform. Lovina had come with him, and she’d gathered up the children and swept them into the house for cookies and milk.

  Every other minute, it seemed someone else turned up, demonstrating the amazing power of the Amish grapevine. Much as Gideon appreciated the love they showed, he’d just as soon be left alone. But he didn’t figure that would happen anytime soon.

  “Bruises, you’re going to have plenty of those.” The paramedic finished writing something on a clipboard. “Suppose you let us take you in to the hospital to have that head looked at. Just in case it’s a concussion.”

  He shook his head and instantly regretted it. “No need. I’m fine. Nothing is broken.” He flexed his right hand, wrapped in an elastic bandage. It was swollen already, and he wouldn’t be doing any carpentry work for a while. “I’d rather go home.”

  “If they think you should go . . .” Rachel’s voice died away. She’d be thinking that she didn’t have the right to insist.

  “We’ll keep a gut watch on him tonight.” Aaron joined the group. “If anything seems not right, we’ll get someone to drive us in to the hospital.”

  The man nodded and thrust the clipboard at him. “Sign here.”

  Gideon scribbled his name, barely listening to the rest of the instructions. Instead he watched his brother’s face, but Aaron wasn’t giving anything away.

  When the paramedics began gathering up their equipment, folks moved back to give them room. Aaron leaned in next to him.