At Home in Pleasant Valley

by Marta Perry

  “Ja, that’s true enough. If we had your Rachel, plus Sarah and my Gracie and Barbara’s two youngest running around, the house would be getting dirty instead of clean. Not that it isn’t perfectly clean to start with,” she added hastily. Esther’s house had, as always, been spotless when they’d arrived this morning.

  Leah chuckled. “For sure. I don’t know how Rachel does it, but she can create more chaos in five minutes than the other children do all day.”

  “Maybe she takes after her naughty aunt.” Anna said the words without thinking and then wished she hadn’t. Her relationship with Leah was mending, but maybe it wasn’t as strong as all that yet.

  But Leah was smiling. “Ach, don’t you talk that way about my baby sister. You weren’t naughty, only spirited.”

  “And spoiled,” Anna added.

  “Maybe a little bit,” Leah said. “But I’m as much to blame for that as anyone. Mammi and I were so happy for another girl after all those boys.” She paused, looking down at Anna, her hand resting on the wall. “Maybe we made it harder for you in the long run. I’m sorry.”

  “Goodness, Leah, you’ve nothing to be sorry about.” Anna blinked away the tears that had sprung to her eyes at her sister’s words. “You were always the best big sister, even when I drove you crazy.” She could think of a number of things her younger self had blurted out that she wished unsaid. “That’s why I’m feeling that you’d be the better person for Myra to lean on now, not me.”

  Leah climbed down from the stool and moved it over, frowning a little. “I think you’re wrong about that. Myra probably feels more connected to you. You’re much closer in age, after all.”

  “Maybe that’s so, but your work at the clinic makes you much better prepared than I am to help her.”

  The sense of helplessness she’d felt sitting with Myra in Dr. Brandenmyer’s office swept over her again. Leah would know better what to say.

  “Your friend must have gone through difficult times when she was pregnant, ain’t so?”

  “Ja, of course. But it’s not the same. Jannie knew she was dying.”

  Leah’s eyes clouded with pity. “Poor girl. But even though the cause was different, the grieving process is the same. Myra is grieving the loss of the child she expected to have, and she’s adjusting to the one she will have.”

  Anna nodded, considering that. She’d read everything she could find on the stages of grief when Jannie had learned what she was facing. She just hadn’t thought about how that applied to Myra.

  “I see why everyone turns to Teacher Leah with their problems,” she said. “Even if you’re no longer the community’s schoolteacher, you still have all the answers.”

  “Not all,” Leah said, turning back to the work. “After all, you’re the one who went to college, ain’t so?”

  The edge in Leah’s voice startled Anna so much that for a moment she just stood, staring at her sister. Then she put out her hand to stop Leah’s brisk movements with the sponge.

  “Leah? Does it make you angry that I took college classes?”

  Leah kept her face averted. “Why would that make me angry? We’d best get to work, or Esther will think she has slackers for sisters-in-law.”

  Anna was tempted to let it go. But if she and Leah were going to repair their relationship, surely it was better to get all the sore spots out in the open.

  “Talk to me, Leah. I can see that it bothers you. I know the church frowns on higher education, but I was living in the world then.”

  Leah stared down at the sponge in her hand. She turned slowly, still not quite facing Anna.

  “I have a wise friend at the clinic,” she said slowly. “An Amish woman who jumped the fence for the sake of an education. She told me once that people leave for all sorts of reasons—some for conveniences like electricity and airplanes, some for opportunities, like education. If I had ever left, it would have been for that. For learning.”

  “And I was the one who had that chance.” Anna’s mouth twisted with the irony of it. “I’m sorry, Leah. I didn’t think. Do you still—”

  “Ach, no,” Leah said quickly, turning to her fully and clasping her hands. “I am in the right place for me. I know that for certain-sure. Our kinder are mine to teach and help, and I can learn all I want from reading. Sometimes I just wonder what college is like, that’s all.”

  “And I was the one who got to find out, when I never cared a thing for learning. Your friend was right. I left for the freedom I thought I’d find there.”

  “Did you?”

  Anna considered. Had she found the freedom she’d wanted so badly?

  “Not so much as I imagined. I was still tied down, but by different things—the need for a job, for an education. And then by my love for Jannie and for Gracie.”

  “Would you change, if you could? The life you imagined for the one you have?”

  “Never,” she said instantly. “I have Gracie. Loving her is more important than anything.”

  Leah smiled gently. “Then you know how I feel, too.”

  Anna clasped Leah’s hand and felt the warmth of her sister’s grip. They had crossed a bridge in the past few minutes, she and her sister, and it was one that brought them closer at last.

  • • •

  “You will have another sandwich, ja?” Esther passed the platter of cold meat sandwiches around the table again, determined to feed her helpers.

  That was part of the routine, almost a ritual that Anna remembered from her earliest childhood. Whenever one family was hosting church, all the women would gather early in the morning to clean, then share a simple lunch together before returning home.

  She’d never really thought about it before. As a small child, she’d found it a happy break in the routine; as a teenager, she had usually complained beforehand, no matter how much she enjoyed the gathering once she actually got there.

  The work frolic was comforting in its own way, a time for women’s voices and women’s work and women’s laughter. If the men and the children had been here to share the meal, the talk wouldn’t turn to matters of pregnancy, childbirth, and mothering.

  “You’re fortunate, you are, Esther.” Barbara helped herself to a slab of applesauce cake. “When we host church, it must be in the barn. The way your living room and dining room join makes it easier to have it in the house already.”

  “I hope folks will not feel too crowded.” Esther cast an anxious glance toward the front of the new house she and Mahlon had moved into in the spring. “We’ll have to do the gathering with women in the kitchen and men on the front porch, I think.”

  “Ja, that will work best,” Barbara agreed.

  The gathering before the service allowed worshippers to file into the house in the traditional order . . . older women first, then younger, followed by children and teenage girls. Then the men, with the teenage boys bringing up the rear.

  Anna found she was visualizing the silent procession, feeling the spirit of solemnity it added in preparation for worship. They didn’t enter worship individually, chattering about the week’s events or laughing with friends. Even if the place of worship was a barn, it was entered with reverence.

  Esther poured coffee into thick white mugs. “I wish Myra had come today. Anna, you must take some applesauce cake home to her. Is she eating all right?”

  “I don’t think she’s had much appetite the past couple of days, but she’s making an effort.”

  “Gut, gut.” Barbara heaved a sigh, her usually happy face solemn. Barbara had popped out five healthy kinder with little fuss and bother, and she was obviously hurting for Myra. “I wish we could do something. Leah, do you think this doctor can really be sure?”

  As always, the family turned to Leah, the teacher, for answers.

  “Not one hundred percent, as Dr. Brandenmyer told Myra, but the test she had is nearly always ri
ght. He’s very gut at what he does. We’re fortunate to have him in the area.”

  “The Amish are the reason he came here,” Esther pointed out. “For the genetics, Mahlon tells me.”

  Anna had to contain a smile at hearing her scatterbrained brother held up as an authority. She could tell that Leah had the same impulse, and it reminded her of all the times Leah had nudged her to keep an unwise word to herself, as if she saw the thought forming in a balloon over Anna’s head.

  “All we can do is give them our support and pray that the boppli is born healthy,” Leah said.

  “Dr. Brandenmyer said that fifty percent of Down’s syndrome children have heart defects.” Anna’s heart ached as she said the words.

  “Well, and that means fifty percent don’t. We will pray for that, and for strength and wisdom for Myra and Joseph.” Leah’s tone was soft but firm. “Such children can sometimes go to school, like the Esch boy and Ezra Miller’s two youngest.”

  “Ja, that’s true.”

  Anna realized that Leah wanted to keep them focused on the positive, and she was right. Myra didn’t need gloomy faces around her.

  And Esther, who was still childless, didn’t need to be frightened by a situation she might never have to deal with. Esther probably already worried about all the cases of Crigler-Najjar syndrome in the Miller family tree.

  Esther’s family included her distant cousins, who had been coming home from a visit to relatives when they’d had the misfortune to meet up with Anna Beiler behind the wheel of a car.

  If she could find a chance to talk to Esther alone, she would ask about them. She’d never understood what the family had gone through until those moments coming home from the fair, when she’d held Gracie close to her body, terrified that she wouldn’t be able to protect the baby if the worst happened.

  She’d never be able to find peace until she could make amends. The thoughts she’d been having about staying—how could she do that if she were not forgiven?

  The others began getting up from the table, gathering their belongings together, and she saw her chance.

  “Let me help you clean up the kitchen, Esther.” She seized a stack of plates and carried them to the sink. “I don’t have to be home right away.”

  Esther protested, of course, but in a few minutes the others were gone, and they were alone together in the kitchen.

  Esther rinsed soap from a plate and handed it to her to dry. “You really didn’t need to stay,” she said.

  “Actually, I wanted to talk with you.”

  “With me?” The whites of Esther’s eyes showed, as if she were afraid of what Mahlon’s fence-jumping sister might want of her.

  “About your cousins who live out on the Fisherdale Road. Aaron Esch and his family.” She sucked in a breath. “The people I hit with the car that night.”

  “Oh.” Esther’s apprehension didn’t ease. “What about them?”

  “I would like to go and see them.” She chose her words carefully. “So that I can tell them how sorry I am. But I don’t want to go there if they would rather I didn’t.”

  That sounded as if she was trying to protect herself, wanting only to go if she could be assured of a welcome. Was that really what was behind her thoughts?

  “Do you think they might be willing to talk with me?”

  Esther washed a cup with unnecessary vigor. “I’m not sure that’s a gut idea.”

  Anna felt as if she’d taken a punch to the stomach. “You mean they haven’t forgiven me.”

  She hadn’t truly anticipated that, she realized. Forgiveness was a basic tenet of Amish faith. She’d always thought, deep in her heart, that they would forgive.

  “I don’t know,” Esther said, taking Anna’s hand in her wet, soapy one. “Really, Anna, I don’t. I mean, they wouldn’t say much to me, being married to your brother. I just remember talk about how the little girl cried every time she had to get in a buggy afterward, and well . . .”

  “I see.” Where did she go from here? Anna wondered. If forgiveness wasn’t possible, what then?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Samuel patted the big gelding, murmuring soothingly as he lifted the front hoof to finish the shoeing job. He had the animal in cross ties in the barn, but still, he was cautious, as always, working around a creature that outweighed him by so much.

  Concentrating on the job at hand usually wasn’t hard for him, but today too many other thoughts distracted him. Like Myra’s unborn baby. Like Anna, and his feelings for her.

  With Mamm gone, and Joseph’s mamm passed as well, he’d thought maybe Myra would want their sister to come from Indiana at this difficult time, but she’d rejected that when he suggested it. She had her sisters-in-law, she’d said. She had Anna right here every day.

  He began pulling off the old shoe. It had worn a bit unevenly, he noticed. He’d have to check the other shoes for that. A quiver went over the horse’s skin, and he leaned against the animal’s shoulder, comforting it.

  Anna was here, ja, she was. He couldn’t think about her without going right back to their trip to the fair. To what had happened on the way home.

  The lack of knowledge that made a driver blow a horn in the horse’s ears didn’t surprise him—that sort of thing happened often enough that he didn’t give it a second thought any longer, especially when he was driving an animal as well-mannered as Blackie. But Anna’s reaction had startled him.

  It had startled her, too, he figured. Her memories and grief had overwhelmed her without warning. She’d clutched Gracie as if she’d never let go.

  As for him, he hadn’t been much help to her in that crisis, now had he? Afterward, when it was too late, he’d thought of a dozen things he should have said to her. Maybe he really was as slow as Anna had always thought him.

  Putting the hoof down, he straightened, stretching his back. Farriers who did this all day long often ended up bent over nearly double. He took the new horseshoe from the box.

  “Komm now,” he said, running his hand down the leg, pinching the cannon bone to get the animal to lift his hoof. “Almost done.”

  Ja, his day at the fair with Anna and Gracie had turned out different from what he’d expected. He’d thought they would have a pleasant day out, a chance for both of them to see how well they fit together, with no commitment on either side. Instead, a car full of careless teenagers had pushed them too far, too fast.

  Well, him at least. He’d recognized, standing there feeling helpless when Anna needed him, that he’d gone beyond friendship, like it or not.

  As for Anna—who knew what she felt? They hadn’t been alone together since, so maybe that in itself was an answer.

  He started to clinch the nails when the barn door rattled.

  “Samuel?”

  The gelding snorted, jerking against the cross ties. Off balance, Samuel tumbled backward.

  “Samuel!” Anna arrived at his side a second later, before he could get himself up off the floor.

  “I’m so sorry.” She reached for him, her face filled with worry. “I shouldn’t have come in without checking to see what you were doing.”

  She slid her arm around his waist to help him to his feet, and for a moment he let himself enjoy her embrace. Then he straightened.

  “It’s nothing. I am fine.” He flexed his wrist, wincing a little. Maybe not so fine.

  “You’re hurt.” Anna took his wrist in her hands, feeling it gently.

  “It’s nothing. Just a little bruise.” He pushed away the temptation to let her keep fussing over him.

  “I’ll get some cold water.” Before he could protest, she’d grabbed a bucket and hurried to the barn pump. She pumped furiously, filling the bucket.

  In a moment she was back. She grabbed his hand and thrust his fist into the bucket. “This will help stop the swelling.”

  Suppressing a sm
ile, he sat down on a straw bale, bucket and all. “Ja, Dr. Anna.”

  “Don’t laugh,” she protested, and he saw how seriously she was taking it. “I’ve caused enough trouble for people already. I don’t want to add you to my list. Especially not now.”

  “It was Star’s fault, not yours.” He nodded to the gelding, now watching them as calm as he could be. “If I’d had my mind on my work, he wouldn’t have gotten away with it.”

  Samuel certain-sure wasn’t going to tell her why his mind had been straying, not with her sitting next to him on the straw bale, looking at him with such concern in those blue eyes.

  He forced himself to stop drowning in those eyes and concentrated on what she’d said. “What did you mean, ‘especially now’?”

  “That’s what I came to tell you. One of Bartlett’s workers stopped by the house. Mr. Bartlett is coming this evening to see how the horse is coming along. If your wrist is bad, you won’t be able to show him what you’ve done with Star.” She sounded ready to weep at the thought.

  “Ach, it’s okay.” He lifted his hand, dripping, from the water and flexed his fist. “See? And the gelding will do fine.” He smiled. “As long as you promise not to scare him.”

  “Maybe I’d better stay far away.” She gave a mock shudder. “I wouldn’t want to jinx you.”

  “You couldn’t do that.” He saw the concern that lingered in her face, and he longed to wipe it away, longed to see her smile.

  “I told Myra I would bring Bartlett’s message over because I wanted to see you.” She was looking down, so that all he could see of her face was the curve of her cheek. “I haven’t properly thanked you for your kindness the other day.”

  “You do not need to thank me, Anna. You were hurting. I wish I could have found the right words to make it easier for you. But I’m not so gut at that.”

  “What you said was true, and I’d always rather hear truth than pleasant lies.”

  Who had told her pleasant lies? he wondered. Someone out in the English world? A man she cared for?

  “I’m sorry that you were frightened.”