A Time to Heal

by Barbara Cameron

  So he studied the way Jenny stood stiffly, wrapped her arms over her chest as if she were shivering—even though the day was still warm—and wore a worried frown as she talked to Matthew.

  Matthew stood with his back to him so he wasn't able to see his expression, but he saw Matthew straighten and he put his hands on his hips as he listened to his wife. Then he touched her shoulder in a reassuring way and they began walking back to the farmhouse.

  The fire investigator's truck was still parked in the drive.Had Jenny come to get Matthew because the investigator wanted to talk to him about the barn? If so, that couldn't be good.

  Chris glanced out at the road and saw a buggy parked to one side. From where he stood, Chris couldn't see its occupant.He felt that odd sensation of being watched again. It had happened a number of times that day because so many buggies and cars had slowly gone by.

  He shook his head, telling himself he didn't have time to let it concern him. There was too much to be done. He turned back to his work.

  10

  Matthew walked into the kitchen where Hannah sat with Jenny at the kitchen table, mending some of the kinner's clothes.

  "What did the fire investigator have to say?" Jenny asked him.

  Matthew's glance slid to Hannah, then he looked at Jenny and shrugged. "Not much. He poked around the barn and said he'd get back to me when he knew something."

  "That sounds like he thinks it wasn't an accident," Jenny said, putting down the mending. "Otherwise, he'd just say he didn't see anything out of the ordinary."

  When her brother glanced her way again, Hannah stood. "I think I'll go see if Phoebe needs anything in town."

  "You don't have to leave."

  Hannah looked at Matthew. "I think you need to talk to Jenny privately."

  "Why would he need to do that?" Jenny made a knot and clipped the thread. "We're not talking about anything personal."

  "He just said that he'd prefer it if I didn't say anything about the investigation," Matthew said.

  "Hannah is your sister, not an outsider."

  Matthew nodded. "I know." He sighed. "You know how it is when something happens. People talk. Rumors get started.I think the investigator is just saying the less anything is said about it, the better, regardless of whether the fire was an accident or something more."

  He got a glass, filled it with water, and drank it down. "I need to get back outside. We'll talk later."

  Hannah picked up her mending when he left. After a few minutes, she put it down again. "Do you want some more tea?"

  "No, but have some if you like."

  She fixed the tea, brought it to the table, and let it cool while she tried to concentrate on fixing a rip in one of Annie's dresses. The child was harder on her clothing than anyone Hannah knew.

  Getting up, Hannah checked on a casserole she'd brought over for dinner. Jenny had been grateful for it, although Hannah didn't think it took any special effort on her part to make a second when she was already making one for herself and Phoebe.

  She found herself wandering to the kitchen window, looking to see what the men were doing out in the fields. Allrecht, maybe she looked to see what one particular man was doing.

  When she turned to walk back to the table, she saw that Jenny watched her, a faint smile on her lips.

  "Feeling restless?"

  "No, of course not." Hannah took her seat again. Then, after a long moment, she gave up. "Would you mind if I took this home to finish later?"

  Jenny looked up. "Of course not. Why would I mind? It was nice enough of you to offer to help to begin with."

  "I think I'll ask Phoebe if she'd like to go into town."

  "I thought you looked restless," Jenny said sympathetically.

  "A bit."

  "I know the feeling."

  "You're feeling restless too? Would you like to go?"

  Jenny laughed and shook her head. "No, I meant I know the feeling but I'm not feeling it now. I'm actually quite content to sit here and do something domestic. But then again, I was just out of town days ago. It feels good to be here now." She put the sock she'd been mending down. "We've all been so busy and then there's been this . . . tension since the fire."

  Hannah sighed. "You've felt it too?"

  "How could I not? Every time I look at the barn I get this uncomfortable feeling. I think it's bothering Matthew as well.He hasn't been sleeping well. It's a shame. Harvest time is always exhausting enough."

  Hannah tucked her needle and thread into her sewing basket, stood up, and reached down to give Jenny a hug. "Anything you need from town?"

  "I'm fine." Then she looked at the socks in the basket. "But next week, let's you and I consider a trip to get some new socks for the kids. It just seems to me that mending isn't worth the time as cheap as socks are. I know that's probably sacrilegious to say here because nothing's to be wasted but . . ."

  Hannah laughed. "I understand how you hate it."

  When Hannah returned home, she found Phoebe had a visitor who'd just arrived. With just a little sigh of disappointment, she went on out to hitch up Daisy to the buggy.

  Within a block or so of the house, the vague restlessness faded. She didn't often feel such a thing; she loved being at home, doing things in and around it.

  A man walked on the right-hand side of the road. Although all she could see was the back of him, he looked familiar. When she pulled alongside, she saw that it was Chris.

  "Going somewhere?" she asked and then found herself holding her breath. Why did she hope he wasn't going to say that he was leaving?

  "Matthew told me to take a couple of hours off."

  "Really?"

  "Really. Thought I'd take a walk into town, go to the library."

  He kept walking and Daisy plodded along next to him.

  "Would you like a ride?"

  When he didn't answer for some time, Hannah wondered if he'd heard her. Then he turned and looked at her. "You're not afraid of me?"

  "You know I'm not."

  "I don't know anything," he muttered. "Josiah just went past. I got the distinct impression he wishes I'd just keep traveling on down the road."

  "I'm sure. He's not the friendliest man. Come on, get in, I'll give you a ride." She stopped the buggy, watched him hesitate and then climb inside.

  "Where are you headed?" he asked her.

  "I'm getting some supplies at the quilt store. I wouldn't mind looking in the library too. My nieces and nephew always love it when I get books for them. Annie loves a good book, especially when I read it to her."

  "Okay. You decide which one to visit first." He leaned back against the seat and watched the passing scenery.

  "You'd go into the quilt shop with me?"

  He shrugged. "Sure. Why not?" Then he looked at her. "Oh, so the men here can't do that sort of thing?"

  "It's not that they can't, but they're not really interested in what they view as a woman thing."

  "I don't mind going in with you. My grandmother took me a few times when she ran errands."

  Hannah found herself laughing. "Bet you were a little boy then."

  He grinned, his teeth bright white against skin turning tan from being out in the fields. "Yeah, but I'm not afraid to be in a woman's enclave. I was in the military."

  When she looked blank, he held up his arm and flexed the muscle. "I'm a manly man. I can take it. That's Englisch guy humor," he explained when she stared at him.

  "I see," she said dryly. Then she smiled to show him that she "got" it, as the Englisch said.

  They fell silent as they traveled.

  "What do you like to read?"

  "A little of everything," he said noncommittally. "I want to poke around. But ladies first. Let's go to the quilt store, then the library."

  "Okay. I hope you won't be sorry."

  "Looks like a little store. How long can it take?"

  Famous last words, thought Chris.

  Stitches in Time turned out to be a tiny store with spaces in fro
nt for just four cars or buggies to park. But the minute Chris opened the door for Hannah, he realized that the room inside stretched for far more than the usual length of a store.

  It was interesting to watch Hannah as she walked through the shop. Her fingers touched a fabric here, another there, and she got a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were already planning out a design for a quilt.

  The clerk, dressed in Plain clothing, stood at the counter cutting fabric. She glanced up and greeted Hannah. "Hi, didn't expect to see you today. You don't have a lesson until Thursday, do you?"

  "No, I decided not to wait until then to get some fabric to start a new quilt."

  "Can I help you with something?" the clerk asked Chris.

  "He's with me. Chris, this is Naomi, one of the owners of the store. Naomi, this is Chris, a friend of Jenny's."

  She turned to Chris. "Naomi, Anna, and Mary Katherine are sisters. They and their grossmudder own the shop."

  "Hi, Chris. So, are you interested in quilting too?" she asked, tucking her tongue in her cheek.

  He grinned at her. "Nope. Thought I'd try knitting."

  "Knitting? Did someone say knitting?" Another young woman, who looked a lot like Naomi and dressed like her, approached.

  Hannah laughed. "Chris, meet Anna. She can help you with any knitting supplies."

  Another young woman joined them, looking similar to the other two and dressed the same. "Hi, I'm Mary Katherine.Maybe you'd like to look at our weaving section?"

  "Now, now, don't tease the poor man," an older woman said as she walked up. She turned to Chris. "I'm sure he's here to learn how to make the little Amish dolls I'm known for."

  Chris backed up. "I think I'll just wait in the buggy for you, Hannah."

  Feminine laughter followed him and he slunk off to the buggy. Geez, he'd faced down men with guns, but surrounded by a bunch of Amish women teasing him about making crafts he'd turned tail.

  Outside, he became the subject of curious stares from passing tourists who obviously wondered why he was dressed in Englisch clothes but sitting in an Amish buggy.

  Yes, it is an interesting time, this trip to Paradise, he thought.

  The minutes ticked by and he became aware that he was being watched, the itch between his shoulders was back. He glanced around but didn't see anything out of the ordinary.Tourists walked around dressed in logo T-shirts, food in hand, looking in shop windows and carrying bags of things they'd already bought.

  None passing by gave him any cause for concern. He wasn't sure if that meant they truly didn't warrant concern, or if it was because he was getting soft.

  Surely there was no need for him to be thinking about watching his back now that he wasn't a soldier—now that he was in a place called Paradise.

  When Hannah returned to the buggy, she was carrying a big bag with the store name imprinted on it. Chris got out to put it in the buggy for her and she looked surprised.

  "What? Is there no chivalry among the Amish men?"

  "I don't know this 'chivalry' but I'm capable of carrying a shopping bag."

  Chris pretended to heft the bag with great effort. "I don't know about that. I think you bought a piece of every bolt of fabric in the store."

  Hannah put her hands on her hips. "I did not!"

  "And spent all your salary from teaching there last week."He could tell his words hit home when she blushed.

  "Not all," she said primly.

  "Because you got an employee discount."

  Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to protest until she saw him grin and hold out his hand to help her into the buggy.

  "How do you know about employee discounts?" she asked him as she climbed in by herself.

  "My first job was at a store, and I spent most of my paychecks buying things," he said, chuckling at the memory. "I only stopped when my dad refused to pay for my car insurance."

  He glanced at her as she called to Daisy to get the buggy moving. "No sixteen-year-old boy can go without his wheels."

  "It's much the same here," she said with a smile. "Our young men have courting buggies and some of them deck them out with radios and such."

  Her smile faded. "Some of them leave before being baptized because they want the cars. And the music. Well, what some of the young people call music. It sounds like—"

  She stopped and shook her head. "Well, it doesn't sound like any music I remember listening to during my rumschpringe."

  "Caterwauling," Chris told her. "My dad always called it caterwauling. Now I think it's just blasphemous calling heavy metal that kind of name."

  He stretched out his long legs as best as he could within the confines of the buggy. "So anyway, I stopped buying this and that so I could keep my wheels." He chuckled again. "Of course, the car was one big rust heap and held together with duct tape. And prayer. I did a lot of praying when I drove, that's for sure.

  "Prayer stood me in good stead when I went into battle," he said, looking inward. "I don't know of anyone who doesn't do it on the front lines." He fell silent. "I remember doing a lot of prayer there. But I know now I was trying to bargain with God, asking him to keep me alive. And later, after my friend was killed in front of me and when I was hurt, I was just so angry at Him."

  "I think everyone's had a time when they're angry with God. Or at the very least disappointed?"

  He was silent for so long that she wondered if she'd come across as preaching. The Amish didn't believe in doing that, but he still could think that. Neither of them spoke for several blocks.

  "I doubt you've ever told God you're angry with Him."

  "Well, disappointed might be more accurate," she agreed.

  "Anyway, I didn't mean to take us down that path. This was supposed to be a pleasant hour or two away from home."

  "I'm happy to listen if it helps."

  He glanced at her. "You're a nice woman, Hannah."

  "I don't think you thought that when you first came here."

  "You were just being protective of your family. I don't blame you."

  Another buggy passed, and its occupant leaned out the side and studied them. Chris saw it was Josiah coming back from his errand.

  "Now I know he doesn't like me."

  Hannah waved at Josiah. "He's just protective of the community.Doesn't like outsiders. And someone told me he's always been a little grumpy. His wife kept him from being that way when she was alive, but now that she's passed, well, there's no one to temper that, I suppose."

  The clip-clopping of Daisy's hooves was the only sound for a while.

  "Who's going to do that for me?" he heard her mutter.

  "What?"

  But she wouldn't answer him. He'd caught glimpses that all wasn't placid beneath her surface. He wondered why.

  She was the most interesting woman he'd ever met. But she was also probably the most different woman from any he'd known in his life. Their worlds didn't mix.

  Besides, he'd felt like he had the worst luck with women.He'd dated just like any other guy in high school, just not very often before he'd gone off to do his military service. He'd worked up the nerve to ask Bobbie Joe to be his steady and had even given her a promise ring. She'd written him overseas a number of times but abruptly dropped him over "the trouble" as she called it.

  Now, of course, he was glad she had. Who knew how much worse it might have been if she'd done it after he was injured.

  The library was their next stop.

  Hannah decided to look for some books for her nieces and nephew and maybe a book on quilt patterns. They agreed to meet back at the front door in twenty minutes.

  Chris headed straight for the computers available for public use. He sat beside an elderly woman who was looking at photos of children. "My grandchildren," she told him proudly as she scrolled through the shots.

  A teen sat on the other side of him, casting nervous glances around. Chris didn't know if he was looking at something he shouldn't or if he was playing truant from school.

  Chr
is logged on and pulled up his e-mail account. There were just a few that had been sent in the last couple weeks: one from his brother, Steve; one a reminder about a bill; and two from the buddies that had stuck by him through The Trouble.

  He opened the one from his brother first. It was the usual— a mild complaint that he hadn't written for weeks and asking if he was enjoying his travels. It ended, as most e-mails from his brother did, with a request that Chris give him a call when he could. So he wrote an apology, explained that he was having a great time in Lancaster, and that he would call soon.

  Of course, if he really intended to do that, he'd have to do something about his cell phone. When the battery on his cell had first run down, Matthew offered to charge it for him in the barn. Since so many of the Plain people ran businesses, he'd told Chris that cell phones were allowed for such. But Chris got few calls and really didn't care. So time passed and it lay in his backpack.

  Taking care of some bills was next. And then Chris clicked on the first of the two messages from buddies. Jokester Brian told a joke so raw it made Chris glance around like the nervous teen next to him to make sure no one was reading it over his shoulder.

  The next e-mail was from Jack, a rambling litany of complaints about life in the "private sector" by a former soldier buddy who'd complained nonstop during his time in the military.Chris had thought he'd be happier getting out, but now he wondered if Jack was the type of person who wasn't happy anywhere.

  His hands stilled on the keyboard. He wondered if he was like Jack. He'd been so eager to get out of the hospital—get back to normal, everyday life. And the farm. He'd been so looking forward to being back on the farm.

  And then, when he got there, the farm was much as it had been for years, but it felt different. No longer familiar. No longer home.

  His family hadn't changed. He supposed he should be happy about that; all of them were just the way they'd been when he went overseas, just a little older. His brother, Steve, still talked about finding a good woman to help him run the farm. Aunt Bess still kept Uncle Joe in line. And his dad claimed it was time for Steve to do some work, so he went fishing when he could.