At Home in Pleasant Valley

by Marta Perry

  That was foolish. The fear that curdled her stomach was irrational. She had to believe that.

  But could she? Probably not as long as her memory of the last time she’d seen him was so vivid. He’d been high—she’d realized that the moment she’d opened the door.

  Her fingers tightened on the handle she held now, as if she could go back, relive that moment, and not open the door.

  That’s what she should have done, but she hadn’t. How was she to know? She hadn’t seen or heard from Pete since long before Gracie was born. She’d hardly expected him to decide, after all that time, that he wanted to see the baby.

  Not just see. Take. Her skin crawled with the memory. He’d gone from tears to fury and back again, talking wildly about running off with Gracie. He’d go to Mexico, or Canada, where no one would look for them. He’d be a good father to his little girl.

  She’s not yours. That’s what she’d screamed at him. She’s not yours.

  He’d come after her then, tossing her out of his way as if she were a rag doll. Her ribs still hurt from where she’d hit the floor.

  That was what her neighbors had heard. Two college boys, who hadn’t seemed interested in anything more serious than girls and games, had rushed to the rescue, hustled Pete out, and told her to call the police.

  She hadn’t. Maybe she’d still been more Amish than she thought. The Amish didn’t turn to the law to settle their problems.

  Instead she’d packed up everything she could carry, put Gracie in the car seat, and fled.

  She shook her head, trying to make the memory go away. Pete had never known anything about her background, so even if he wanted to come after her, he couldn’t. The Amish, living off the grid, possessing no computers or cell phones or credit cards, could not easily be traced. They were safe here.

  That should make her feel better, but she knew she wasn’t going to be content until she was sure that visitor had nothing to do with her.

  She went out onto the porch, picking up the basket she’d dropped when she’d seen the truck, and glanced across the yard. Joseph had disappeared, probably into the shop. Samuel stood where he’d been, watching her, as if he knew she would come and speak to him.

  Swinging the basket as if the garden were the only thing on her mind, she went across the yard, the grass whispering under her feet. The walnut tree was heavy with nuts, the green pods starting to fall and blacken.

  Mamm had always said the black walnuts were the most delicious—that they had to be because they were so difficult to harvest. She could help Myra with that, if she was still here. Samuel watched her, his face unreadable. She gestured with the basket.

  “I’m going to get some peppers to roast. Myra wants to put some up.”

  He nodded, looking at her as if knowing that wasn’t all that was on her mind.

  Annoyance pricked at her. “Who was the Englischer?”

  “His name is Bartlett.”

  He was telling her as little as possible. Why?

  “Did he say anything about me?”

  Now something did flicker in Samuel’s eyes—surprise, maybe. “Mr. Bartlett has a troublesome horse he wants me to work with. That’s why he came here, to ask me about the animal.”

  “I see.” She tried to smile. “I’m glad you’re getting some more business.” She hitched up the basket. “I’d better get on with the peppers.”

  She started to turn away. Samuel reached out, his hand clasping her wrist. She stopped, startled, feeling the warmth of his grip.

  “Why would you think the Englischer had come about you, Anna?”

  “I . . . I don’t.” She’d been an idiot, asking him that. “I just wondered. I mean, I suppose my coming back made a lot of talk.”

  “Among the Leit.” The Amish. “Why would the English know? Or care?”

  “They wouldn’t.” She tugged at his hand, feeling the strength of his grip. “What are the Amish saying, then? You’re in a position to tell them plenty, aren’t you?”

  His face tightened, making him look far older than she knew him to be. “I would not do that, and I think you know it.”

  She’d rather hang on to her anger, but he was right. That didn’t make her feel any more kindly toward him. She took a breath. “Sorry.” The apology was ungracious, but it was the best she could do. “I don’t believe you’d gossip about me.”

  He let her hand go, a smile flickering across his face. “I’m the last person who’d do that. I remember too well what it was like when I came back.”

  “Plenty of talk, I suppose.”

  “Ach, it soon died down. They found something else to talk about.”

  “Someone else, more likely.” Her shoulders moved, as if to shake off the sense of people watching. Commenting. “That was one of the reasons I left. I hated everyone thinking they had the right to talk about what I was doing.”

  “Even when it was kindly meant?”

  “That was the worst.” He wouldn’t understand. How could he?

  Samuel’s hazel eyes were serious, intent on her face. “You don’t like people taking an interest in you.”

  “Not when it means they think they have the right to judge.” Her temper flared again in an instant. “I didn’t like it then, and I don’t like it now.”

  He continued to stare at her without a visible reaction, his face impassive. “That might make it a little hard to go before the congregation with a humble heart, don’t you think?”

  How did he know to press on exactly the point that bothered her most? She fought down the surge of temper that only he seemed able to unleash in her.

  “That’s between Bishop Mose and me, Samuel. Or are you wanting to be chosen for a minister the next time it comes around?”

  “I could not do that.” He pushed that idea away with a quick, instinctive movement of his hands. “But I do know what it’s like to come back after living English. I can see that something is wrong, Anna. If there’s anything you want to talk about, anything you think maybe the others wouldn’t understand—”

  “There’s nothing!” She snapped the words, not sure whether anger or fear predominated in her heart. “There’s nothing wrong, and I’d be pleased if you’d mind your own business.”

  Clutching the basket, she brushed past him and hurried to the garden.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Anna slid the skin from one of the peaches Myra had scalded, the fruit smooth and heavy in her hand. She hadn’t done this in a long while, but the technique came back to her, as if her fingers remembered what her mind had forgotten. The aroma of the peaches, rich and sweet, filled her head, carrying her back to her mother’s kitchen and the easy chatter of women working together.

  Helping Myra can peaches kept her hands busy, but it left her mind free to worry about what the evening held. Bishop Mose would be stopping by after supper to talk with her. Daadi had sent word over this morning, which must mean he’d already spoken to the bishop about her.

  What would Bishop Mose ask her? And how would she explain herself to him? She needed his acceptance if she was to stay here. She forced herself to loosen her grip on the peach before she bruised it with her worry.

  Myra sliced peaches quickly into a bowl of water treated with a pectin solution to keep them from darkening. “The Elbertas are the best ever this year, I think.” She darted a glance at Anna. “But you are not thinking about peaches just now. You are fretting about the bishop’s visit, ja?”

  “How did you know?” In the week she’d been here, Anna had begun to discover that for all her outward shyness, Myra could go straight to the heart of the matter.

  “Ach, it’s only natural, ain’t so?” Myra’s hands stilled on the peaches for a second, and then she clasped Anna’s hand in a brief, wet squeeze. “It will be all right. You’ll see. Bishop Mose will understand.”

  “I hope so.”<
br />
  But did she hope that, really? As she recalled, their district’s bishop, wise with years, had a way of knowing what was in your heart. She wasn’t sure she wanted him looking that closely into hers.

  “I’m certain-sure,” Myra said, her voice warm with affection.

  “Denke, Myra.” Anna’s heart filled with gratitude for her sister-in-law’s caring. “I appreciate your saying so.”

  Myra took the next peach. “Ach, I just thought maybe you wanted to talk to someone about it, and I’m the only one here. Or you could run over to Leah’s, if you want. I can handle the canning myself.”

  “That’s all right. I don’t need to see Leah.”

  A chill settled on her heart. That was just as well, since it seemed Leah didn’t want to see her. For all her words of welcome and her warm hug, Leah had made no effort to seek her out for a private talk since her return. It looked as if Leah wasn’t ready yet to go back to being sisters.

  She should try to look on the bright side of it. At least this way when she left, she wouldn’t be hurting Leah again.

  Her heart twisted. She didn’t want to hurt anyone. If she could have found another place where Gracie would be safe, she wouldn’t have come here.

  She had to protect Gracie, no matter what, so she’d do what was necessary. She would submerge herself and her daughter into the Amish world until it was safe to come out.

  And then what? How many people would she hurt when she went away again? If she could stay here while keeping her distance from the others . . . Well, that wasn’t worth thinking about. It was next to impossible in a community like this. Nobody kept any distance, it seemed.

  Myra lifted clean jars from the hot water bath, and together they began to fill them. The amber slices slid into the glass jars easily, making the glass seem to glow from within.

  “Looks nice,” Myra said. “Satisfying.”

  Anna nodded. “It does. I don’t know why I used to try so hard to get out of helping with the canning.”

  Myra chuckled, smoothing a strand of hair back from her damp forehead with the back of her hand. “Ach, I was the same. Always thinking that Samuel had it better, because he got to work outside with Daadi.”

  “I’m afraid I just wanted to get out of the work, period.” Her thoughts had always been drifting off far from the farm, as she recalled.

  “It’s different now that the work is for my own family,” Myra said. “I like to see the jars all lined up on their shelves and know that we’ll be eating well all winter. And you, too. Your Gracie loves fruit as much as my Sarah does.”

  Myra’s calm assumption that they’d be here for the winter to eat the peaches shook Anna, and it took a moment to reply. “She does enjoy her food.”

  Gracie seemed to have blossomed in the time they’d been here, her cheeks rounding, her chubby little legs getting sturdier. Maybe she was just thriving on all the attention she was getting and from being encouraged to try new things by her two-years-older cousin.

  Where would she and Gracie be, come winter? She didn’t know. Not here. By then Pete would have lost interest, or else he’d be back in jail.

  She couldn’t go back to living Amish, not after having been in the world for so long. Not after being free to make decisions for herself.

  “I’m glad you’re here.” Again, Myra seemed to respond to her thoughts. “It’s gut to have another woman in the house.”

  “You’re nice to say that, but I’m sure you’d rather be alone with Joseph and your little Sarah.”

  She glanced out the window over the sink. The shop was clearly visible, and even now she could see Samuel’s tall figure move past the open door.

  She’d talked to Samuel at meals, of course, in the two days since she’d accused him of nosiness, but she’d been careful not to venture near the shop while he was there working. She didn’t want another private conversation with him, maybe because her conscience was telling her that she owed him an apology. He’d been trying to help, and she had slapped the offer away as if it were an insult.

  “With my mamm gone and my sister living clear out in Indiana, I’ve missed having a woman around to talk to, and that’s the truth,” Myra said. “Especially now.” She rested her palm on the small bump under her apron, smoothing it protectively.

  Anna had seen Jannie do the same thing, time after time. Unease shivered along her nerves as she thought of that trip Myra had made to the clinic the day she’d arrived.

  “Myra, is something wrong?” The question was out before she could tell herself it was intrusive—as intrusive as Samuel’s offer of advice.

  Myra set down the jar she’d been wiping and stared at it for a long moment. “The doctor is concerned about the baby.”

  The words cut straight to Anna’s heart. “Myra, I’m so sorry.” She fought to keep her voice level. “You must be worried. What does the doctor say?”

  “Just that I must have more tests. That the tests will show if the baby has problems.” She pressed her hands against the edge of the sink, as if she needed to hang on to something, and then she turned a fear-filled gaze on Anna. “I try to have faith that it will be as God wills, but I . . . Oh, Anna, what if something is wrong with the boppli? What if I am not strong enough to handle it?”

  Anna’s throat was too tight to answer, her mind a jumble of images in which Jannie and Myra seemed to mix. She wrapped her arms around Myra. Myra clung to her tightly, her tear-wet cheek pressed against Anna’s shoulder.

  “It will be all right,” she said, her voice soothing once she could speak. “It will.”

  But what if it wasn’t? Things didn’t always turn out for the best. Anna knew that only too well. How could sweet, sensitive Myra handle it if her baby had a serious medical problem?

  Myra pulled back, grabbing a dish towel to blot her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t act so weak. It’s just that sometimes I feel I must let it out, and I can’t cry in front of Joseph. He doesn’t know what to do when I cry, and it upsets him so.”

  Anna patted her arm. “You can cry in front of me anytime you want.”

  For as long as I am here. The words clung in her mind like a bramble caught on her skin.

  “I wondered . . . I wanted to ask you . . .” Whatever it was, Myra seemed to have trouble getting the words out. She stopped, took a deep breath. “Anna, would you go with me when I have the tests? I don’t want to keep taking Joseph away from the shop, and besides, it just makes him worry more. I’d go by myself, but I guess I’m just not brave enough.”

  “Of course I will go with you.” What else could Anna say?

  She was digging herself deeper and deeper into life here with every word, every deed. Caring too much. Letting people count on her. But she didn’t seem to have any other choice.

  • • •

  Samuel had put in a busy day in the machine shop until late afternoon, when Joseph had chased him out, saying he knew full well that what Samuel really wanted to be doing was taking a look at Mr. Bartlett’s horse.

  They both knew that was true. So here he was, leaning on the fence of the training ring next to the lane and enjoying the slant of late afternoon sunshine, watching the animal.

  Just watching. According to Bartlett, who’d driven the truck and horse trailer over early in the morning, the gelding was Star’s Midnight Dream, but his barn name was simply Star, for the small white patch on his forehead. Otherwise he was a sleek, glossy black, well-fed, and shining animal, but with a nervous toss of the head and a leery roll of the eye that would make any horseman immediately wary.

  So for today, Samuel was just watching.

  Watching the horse, ja, but very aware of Anna, who’d just come out of the house with the baby on her hip. She seemed to bring little Gracie out every afternoon at this time, probably when the child got up from her nap.

  Also part of Anna’s routine,
at least for the past few days, was ignoring him. Since the day she felt he’d spoken out of turn, that was.

  Well, maybe he’d been wrong to speak. But he’d been in her place himself, teetering precariously on the fence between Amish and English, and when he saw someone else there, he couldn’t help but reach out a hand. Speaking so to Anna had taken him beyond what was comfortable for him, but he’d done it. She hadn’t been grateful.

  The animal’s ears flicked back, as if he heard something, and he rolled his eyes toward the house. Samuel took a quick glance over his shoulder. Anna and Gracie were coming toward him.

  “Anna. And little Gracie.” He held out his hand to the baby as he would to a wary animal.

  There was nothing wary about Gracie. She’d obviously gotten used to seeing him, maybe connecting him in her mind with the horses she loved to watch. She grabbed his fingers, clutching tightly and grinning, showing off her two bottom teeth. She babbled something that might have been a greeting.

  “Ach, I’m such a dummy that I don’t understand. Is she speaking English or Pennsylvania Dutch?”

  “It’s getting hard to tell. Maybe she’s already bilingual.” There was a little strain in Anna’s manner, but her words were friendly enough. “She and Sarah chatter away to each other, and they seem to know what they’re saying, if no one else does.”

  “Sure they do. Just like the horses make their thoughts known, even if we don’t understand them much of the time.”

  “I see you have a new addition.” She nodded to the gelding, who threw up his head as if he knew she was talking about him.

  “Ja, this is the horse belonging to Mr. Bartlett. Star, his name is, but I’m thinking Trouble would be more accurate.”

  “That’s why Bartlett picked you. He thinks you can do what he can’t.”

  “I’m not sure Mr. Bartlett would say that he can’t.” He couldn’t stop a smile. “It’s only that he doesn’t have time, you see.”

  “I see. Aren’t you going to start working with him today?” Her eyebrows lifted a little, so maybe that was a criticism.