by Marta Perry
Rachel actually managed a weak laugh at Lovina’s words. “I’m not upset.” Grieved and pained, but not upset. “It is in God’s hands.”
Lovina looked as if she thought the Lord could use a little help, but she kept the words in. “Let’s get these inside until opening time, ja?”
“Ja.” Rachel led the way toward the kitchen. Odd, to feel so heartened by Lovina’s support.
She’d like to believe that patience was the answer, but she couldn’t. She feared all the patience in the world wouldn’t bring Gideon to the place where he could love again.
• • •
There was still a half hour to go before the opening time, but a car came down the lane already. Rachel assessed the situation, nerves jumping. Were they ready?
The refreshments weren’t out yet. Everything else looked fine. The potted marigolds glowed yellow and orange along one end of the table, while snapdragons formed a rainbow at the other end. Between them were waves of cosmos and zinnias, ready to take off in someone’s garden.
A second long table held the perennials Rachel had potted up. Not so many of those, but she could always do more if there was a demand. They were ready.
She took a deep breath and turned to greet her first customer. But it wasn’t a customer. It was Johnny.
Any concern she felt at having him come when so many Amish were around was supplanted by pure gratitude. He’d supported her throughout, believing in her idea when others didn’t. Without his help and encouragement, her dream might not have become a reality.
“Johnny. You’re here.” She hugged him hard. “I’m so glad.”
“I’d have come earlier, but I stopped to put up a few directional signs. Wouldn’t want your customers getting lost on these back roads, would we?”
Probably no one else would notice the nervousness shown by the way he shifted his weight and ran his hand through his hair. But she knew him too well to be fooled by the casual expression he’d put on.
“You are so kind. I’d never have thought of that.” She squeezed his arm. “I just hope I have some customers to follow the signs.”
“That’s a sure thing.” He patted her arm. His gaze wandered past her, scanning the display of flowers ready for sale. Then he froze.
“Guess I should have known Daad would be here.” He moved back a step, his jaw hardening. “I don’t want to cause trouble, Rach. I’ll leave.”
“No.” Sharp and hard as an axe, the word stopped him. “Don’t you dare go.”
“I’m thinking of you . . .”
“If you are, then think of this—I can’t stand to keep losing people I love. You and Daad are just alike. Do you know that? You’re both letting your stubbornness keep you apart.”
Emotions warred on his face. She could almost feel the desire to leave, but to his credit he fought it.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” He stopped, as if he struggled to get the words out. “But if Daad won’t change, there’s nothing I can do.”
“There’s always something you can do.” She said the words fiercely, unable to keep Gideon out of her mind. “You don’t just give up.”
“But—”
“You don’t have to apologize for what you believe. Don’t expect Daad to apologize for what he believes, either. Just take a step toward him. Give him a chance.”
Johnny stood there a moment longer, fists clenched. Slowly, as if he were wading through a muddy field, he started across the lawn to where William was helping Daad set up a table for the refreshments.
A step sounded on the porch behind her. Mamm stood close, hands folded under her apron.
“You heard?” Rachel whispered.
“Ja.” Mamm’s hands seemed to grip tighter, and Rachel knew she was praying.
Please, Father. Please. Don’t let them shut each other out.
Johnny reached, grabbing the end of the board Daad was trying to put onto the sawhorses. Daad froze. They stared at each other, the length of the board between them.
Daad gave the smallest of nods. Together, they put the board into place. Together, they lifted the next one.
Thank You, Father. Rachel felt the tears Mamm was stifling, felt her own eyes prick. Thank You.
• • •
A few hours later, Rachel knew that her opening was a success. She’d been steadily busy, selling to English and Amish alike.
She knew, well enough, that the Amish had turned out to support her and might not prove to be continuing customers, but that didn’t matter. Plenty of English had come, praised the quality of her offerings, and promised to tell others.
Everyone had come—everyone except Gideon. Rachel tried telling herself that she was foolish. She had every reason to be happy today. Her business was booming, her friends had turned out to support her, the breach with Isaac and William was well on its way to being healed.
Best of all, her father and brother were working their way toward a new relationship. God had answered her prayers in an amazing way, and she was truly grateful.
Yet each time she looked at the greenhouse, overflowing with plants, each time she saw the windmill, its blades circling gracefully, each time she let her mind stray to Gideon, her heart grew heavier.
Nodding and smiling as she waited on a customer, she tried to be sensible. Gideon had done what he’d set out to do. He’d fulfilled his promise to Ezra, and thanks to him, she would become self-sufficient.
She still had to make a decision about the farm, but with Isaac no longer pressuring her and some money coming in, she could take her time. She would listen for God’s leading and trust that He would show her the right decision at the right time.
And then she saw him. Gideon worked his way through the crowd toward her. He carried a windmill—the model windmill he’d shown her the plans for, that day when she’d begun to feel she knew him.
She took a deep breath and forced a smile. “You’ve made the model windmill you talked about. It turned out so well. You must be pleased with it.”
“Ja.” He set it at the edge of her flowerbed, twisting it to settle it firmly into the damp soil. “I made it for you. For the business, I mean.” He was staring at the windmill instead of her. “Maybe folks will want to buy them for garden ornaments.”
“Maybe they will.” Was that the only reason he’d come? To try to give Ezra’s widow another small source of income? She swallowed, trying to relieve the tension in her throat. “You’re very kind.”
For an instant something flared in his eyes at her words. It was gone so quickly that she couldn’t identify the emotion.
He cleared his throat, as if his was as constricted as hers. “I wonder—” He glanced around, seeming to register the other people for the first time. “Could we—there’s something in the greenhouse I want you to see. Can someone else take over here?”
Before Rachel could speak, someone bumped her elbow. Lovina had slipped behind the table where she kept the cash box.
“Let me handle the sales for a bit. You’ve been working all day.”
“Denke, Lovina.”
She wouldn’t let herself imagine what this might mean. Instead, she walked steadily across the lawn to the greenhouse. Gideon came beside and a little behind her, not touching. He ducked his head to follow her into the greenhouse and closed the door behind him.
She’d forgotten how much he filled up the greenhouse when they were inside together. With plants hanging all around and filtering the sunlight, it was as if they’d sheltered inside a quiet cave.
Gideon took a breath so deep that his chest heaved. “This is not a gut time. Your opening—” He stopped, shook his head. “I know how William feels when he can’t get the words out.”
Somehow his awkwardness gave her courage. “Just say it, Gideon. Whatever it is. You can tell me anything. We’re friends, ain’t so?”
“Can I tell you that I love you?” His hands clenched. “Ach, I’m making a mess of it, but I want, I need for you to know my heart.”
Love. She heard the word, and her own heart seemed to swell to meet his. She reached out her hands to him, hardly knowing that she was doing it, and he clasped them in his.
“I think I’ve loved you for a long time, but I couldn’t accept it. How could I love you when Ezra was gone? How could I love you when Naomi was gone?”
“Having loved before shouldn’t keep us from loving again.”
“No. It shouldn’t.” His fingers moved caressingly on the backs of her hands, and the touch went straight to her heart. “But I was blind to that, tied up inside myself.”
“What changed you?” She wanted to put her hands to his face but held back, almost afraid to believe this was happening. “At Leah’s, you said—”
“I was stupid.” His mouth curved just a little. “Lovina has been aching to tell me so. I don’t know why she hasn’t.”
A bubble of happiness was rising in Rachel, filling her with warmth and light. “Because Aaron told her to be patient.”
Gideon’s chuckle was soft and deep. “Bishop Mose ran out of patience with me.”
“Bishop Mose? What did he—how did he know—”
“He knows everything, I think. Especially the things we don’t say.” His eyes darkened. “He told me that not forgiving myself was a sin. That it was refusing to accept God’s forgiveness, thinking that I knew better than God.”
“Gideon, I’m sorry.” She wanted to comfort him, but she didn’t know how.
“Don’t be. At first I felt as if he’d hit me between the eyes with a two-by-four. It knocked me to my knees. And then I knew it was true. I’d shut myself away from the Lord with my stubbornness, and shut my heart away from loving, too.”
“We make mistakes. It’s only human.” And how often those mistakes came down to forgiveness—forgiving yourself, forgiving others, even forgiving God for taking away someone you loved.
“Can you love someone so stubborn and foolish, Rachel?” He raised her hands to his lips, and his breath crossed her skin in a promise.
She seemed to see Ezra’s face in her heart. He would always be there, but he wouldn’t regret the happiness she and the children would find with Gideon.
“I can,” she whispered, lifting her face for his kiss. God had brought them both through the darkness to new life. They would cherish every day, in His name.
ANNA’S RETURN
This story is dedicated to the treasured friends whose unfailing encouragement and support helped to make it possible—you know who you are! And, as always, to my husband, Brian, who always believes in me.
CHAPTER ONE
She was beginning to fear that the prodigal daughter wouldn’t make it home after all. Anna Beiler pressed on the gas pedal. “Come on, you can do it.” The old car responded with nothing more than a shudder.
Daad would probably say that this was what she got for depending on something so English as a car to get her home, and maybe he’d be right. Just the thought of seeing her father made her stomach queasy. How would he, how would any of the family, react to Anna’s turning up at her Amish home three years after she’d given up all they believed in to disappear into the English world?
The car gave an ominous sputter. It might be her prized possession, but she didn’t know much about its inner workings. Still, that noise and the shaking couldn’t be good signs.
She gripped the steering wheel tighter, biting her lip, and faced the truth. She wasn’t going to make it to the Beiler farm, the place where she’d been born, the place she’d left in rebellion and disgrace. She’d been almost nineteen then, sure she knew all about the world. Now, at twenty-two, she felt a decade older than the girl she’d been.
But there, just ahead, she spotted the turnoff to Mill Race Road. Two miles down Mill Race was the home of her brother and sister-in-law. Joseph and Myra would welcome her, wouldn’t they?
Forced into a decision, she’d have to take that chance. She turned onto the narrow road, earning another protesting groan from the car. Her fingers tensed so much that she’d have to peel them from the steering wheel. Worse, now that she was so close, all the arguments for and against coming here pummeled her mind.
Was this the right choice? Her stomach clenched again. She didn’t know. She just knew returning was her only option.
It was strange that things looked the same after three years. Pleasant Valley, Pennsylvania, didn’t change, or at least not quickly. Maybe there’d been a little more traffic on the main road, but now that she was off that, not a car was in sight.
The fields on either side of the road overflowed with pumpkins, cabbage, and field corn that had yet to be cut. Neat barns and silos, farmhouse gardens filled with chrysanthemums, sumac topped with the dark red plumes that made them look like flaming torches—this was September in Pennsylvania Dutch country, and she was coming home.
Maybe she should have written, but when had there been time? There’d been no time for anything but to get out of Chicago as quickly as possible. And there was no way she could explain the unexplainable.
She glanced into the backseat, and her heart expanded with love. Gracie slept in her car seat, good as gold, just as she’d been throughout the long trip. At not quite a year old, she could hardly have understood her mother’s fear, but she’d cooperated.
The neat white sign for Joseph’s machine shop stood where it always had. Anna turned into the narrow gravel lane, determination settling over her. It was far too late to worry if her decision would work. She had to make it work, for Gracie’s sake.
Joseph and Myra’s place was a hundred-year-old white frame farmhouse, identifiable as Amish only by the fact that no electric lines ran to the house. They owned only a few acres, not enough to farm but plenty for the machine shop that her mechanically minded brother ran.
In the pasture to the right of the lane a bay horse lifted his head, eyeing her curiously, probably wondering what a car was doing here. Tossing his mane, he trotted a few feet beside her along the fence.
If Gracie were awake, she would point out the horsey, something that up until now Gracie had seen only in her picture books. Everything about this place would be strange and new to her.
Not to Anna. For her, it all had an almost heartless familiarity. The very sameness made it seem to her that Pleasant Valley had gotten along quite nicely without her, thank you very much, and could continue to do so.
Joseph’s shop was in the large outbuilding at the end of the lane, while off to the left beyond it stood the horse barn. Surely there’d be room in one of them to store the car.
Get it out of sight—that was all she could think. Get the car out of sight, and then they’d be safe.
Maybe she ought to drive straight to the shop. She could park behind it, if nothing else. As if it had read her mind, the car gave one last sputter, a cough, and died, just short of the house.
“No, don’t do this,” she muttered. She switched the key off and then turned it on again, touching the gas pedal gently.
Nothing. The car seemed to sink down on its wheels, like a horse sagging into clean straw after a hard day’s work.
She pounded the steering wheel with the heel of her hand. Still, at least she was here. Joseph would help her, wouldn’t he? He’d always had a tender spot for his baby sister.
Mindful that Gracie still slept, Anna slid out of the car, leaving the door open for air, and straightened, groaning a little. Her muscles protested after all those hours in the car, to say nothing of the tension that had ridden with her.
She glanced down at the faded blue jeans, sneakers, and wrinkled shirt she wore. It might be less harrowing for Joseph and Myra if she’d arrived in conventional Amish clothes, but she’d certainly have drawn attention to herself driving a car that way.
>
Not giving herself time to think about their reaction, she walked quickly to the back door.
She knocked on the screen door, paused, and then knocked again, louder. Nothing. The inner door was closed—odd on a pleasant September day. She opened the screen door, tried the knob, and the realization seeped into her. The luck that had gotten her all the way here from Chicago had run out. No one was home.
She stood on the back step, biting her lip, frowning at the car. The dark blue compact, liberally streaked with rust, had been her friend Jannie’s, and now it was hers, the only car she’d ever owned. Pete knew it well, too well. If he’d followed her—
That was ridiculous. Pete couldn’t possibly have known where she was going. She had to stop jumping at shadows.
But her common sense seemed to have fled. All she could think was to get the car out of sight and submerge herself and Gracie in the protective camouflage of the Amish community as quickly as possible.
Joseph and Myra were away, but one of their horses might still be in the barn. If she could hitch it to the car, she could tow the vehicle out of sight. Hurrying, she checked the sleeping baby. Gracie still slept soundly, her head turned to one side in the car seat, a small hand unfurling like a leaf next to her face.
Gracie was all right. She just had to keep her that way. Anna turned and jogged toward the barn, urged on by the fear that had pursued her all the way from Chicago.
She slid the heavy door open and blinked at the dimness, inhaling the familiar scents of fresh straw, hay, and animals. From one of the stalls came a soft snort and the thud of hooves as the animal moved. Thank heaven. If the horse had been turned out in the field for the day, she might never have caught it.
The bay mare came willingly to her, nosing over the stall boards. It was Myra’s buggy horse, most likely. Wherever they were today, they’d taken the one Joseph drove. Did he still have that big roan?
Lifting a lead line from the hook, Anna started to open the stall door.
A board creaked behind her, and she whirled toward the sound, her breath catching.