The Amish Heiress (The Paradise Chronicles Book 1)

by Patrick E. Craig

  The intense blue eyes were focused on her face now. Suddenly, Rachel felt very uncomfortable. She pulled her hand away and glanced at Daniel. He was looking back and forth between Rachel and Gerald with a strange expression on his face.

  “Gerald, this is my friend, Daniel King. Daniel, this is Gerald St. Clair, a...well, I suppose we are distant cousins.”

  Daniel extended his hand. “Gut mariye, Gerald.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It means good morning.”

  Gerald smiled. “Oh, oh sure. Good morning.”

  Ignoring Daniel’s outstretched hand, he turned to Rachel and motioned toward the limo.

  “Well, cuz, shall we go?”

  Daniel looked at Rachel with a puzzled expression. Rachel found herself feeling very strange, almost like she was being torn in two. She patted Daniel on the shoulder awkwardly.

  “I have to go, Daniel. I will talk to you later.”

  “But, Rachel, who—?”

  Rachel interrupted. “I can’t talk about it right now, but I’ll tell you later. Now I must go.”

  Rachel turned and as she did, Gerald took her arm and steered her toward the car. As he did, he glanced back at Daniel.

  “Nice to meet you, Dennis.”

  “Daniel. My name is Daniel.”

  “Right, Daniel. Come on, Rachel. We have an appointment and we’re running a little late—all that traffic getting out of Manhattan really slowed us down.”

  Gerald opened the door, and Rachel started to get in. She paused and looked back at Daniel, then got into the car. The door closed and the limousine pulled away from the curb. Rachel looked out the back window. Daniel King stood alone on the grass by the edge of the road, staring after her. Suddenly, Rachel had a very sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  *****

  Augusta St. Clair leaned forward in her chair as the man before her read from a thin binder.

  “Although developed in the 1980s, polymerase chain reaction technique in DNA testing has only recently become the standard process for paternity testing.”

  Dr. Sanderson looked at Augusta over his glasses and then looked back down. The desk in front of him was empty of anything except the document he was perusing. The rest of the office was bare of furniture except for the three chairs that were now occupied by Gerald, Rachel, and Augusta. The doctor continued reading. “PCR is a technique through which samples of DNA fragments are copied and replicated many times until billions of copies are made. Because of the power of PCR, very small samples of DNA from any part of the body can be used in a DNA test. Additionally—”

  Augusta broke in. “Yes, Doctor, I’m sure the science is very good. What I want to know is the probability factor for proving paternity, or in this case, grand-paternity.”

  The doctor gave Augusta a peevish look and went on. “As I was saying, because half of the child’s DNA is inherited from the mother and the other half from the father, the child’s DNA should match portions of both biological parents. It will also prove that even distant cousins, such as Rachel and Gerald, share the same common ancestor.”

  “To what degree, Doctor?”

  The doctor looked down at the paperwork on his desk and traced a few lines with his finger. “99.999 percent accuracy, Mrs. St. Clair.”

  “Good. So, what do we have to do to complete this part of the procedure?”

  “A buccal swab is all we need.”

  “A buccal swab, Doctor?”

  “A buccal swab is a way to collect DNA from the cells on the inside of a person’s cheek. Gerald and Rachel simply need to let me swab them—very simple and painless. The samples are analyzed to create the individual’s DNA profile. The DNA profiles will then be compared to determine whether there is a genetic match.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “We should have the results in about a week, Mrs. St. Clair.”

  “Good. And the birthmark?”

  “After examining Rachel’s birthmark, it is my opinion that it is a port-wine birthmark, which has been known to be hereditary in many cases. There is no evidence of tattooing or any artificial substances beneath the skin. I am not an expert in this field, but I can refer you to a man who is. However, as I said, I am quite sure that the birthmark is genuine.”

  Augusta glanced over at Rachel. The girl was leaning forward listening intently to the doctor. Augusta smiled to herself.

  Come into my web, little fly...

  *****

  Daniel King pulled his buggy up in front of his house and got out. His maam was out in the front beating carpets. Daniel unhitched the horse and began to lead him toward the barn.

  “No greeting, son?”

  Daniel looked up. “What? Oh, I’m sorry, Mama, I was thinking about something.”

  “Rachel?”

  Daniel looked at his mother. He never could hide anything from her. “Yes, Mama. It is Rachel.”

  “I think you should try thinking about someone else, Daniel. That girl is never going to love you like you love her. Her mind and heart are out in the world out there. She will never be content to be an Amish wife.”

  Daniel felt the truth in her words, and they twisted in his heart like a knife. “You are right, Mama, but Rachel is in trouble.”

  “Daniel, Rachel is always in trouble. And it worries me to see you mooning over that half-Englisch girl.”

  His maam turned back to the rug and began to beat it. Daniel stared at his mother’s back and then walked toward the barn. He led the horse into the stall and put some hay out for it. Then he walked out the back of the barn and took the path up the hill. He needed to go to his place. He needed to think.

  As he walked up the hill, the afternoon sun warmed his back. The birds sang in the oak trees along the path, and the fresh air of Pennsylvania filled his senses. But Daniel’s heart was heavy. He had seen something in Gerald’s face as he had stared at Rachel. Lust and greed and wantonness—revealed in a way he had never seen so obviously before in a man. It sickened him. Daniel did not know who these St. Clairs were, but he did know in his heart that they were not good people. And he knew that Rachel would never find her dream with them.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Breaking

  Rachel sat at the restaurant table with Augusta and Gerald, looking down at the filet mignon in front of her. Augusta leaned toward her.

  “Rachel, dear, you’ve hardly eaten a bite. Believe me, it’s delicious.”

  Rachel pushed her plate away. “I’m sorry, Mrs. St. Clair.”

  “Augusta, dear. Call me Augusta.”

  “I’m sorry...Augusta. I just don’t seem to have an appetite. I have so many things on my mind.”

  Augusta picked up her purse. “I’m going to powder my nose. Why don’t you two get a little better acquainted?” She scooted her chair back, rose and walked away.

  Gerald smiled as he took a sip of his wine. “I should think you would have many things on your mind, Rachel. After all, it’s pretty much been confirmed that you are a St. Clair and—”

  “And I am the heir to all the money? Well, when the DNA test comes back positive I will be.”

  Gerald let the remark pass. He gave Rachel another very appraising look and Rachel blushed. When he saw Rachel’s response, Gerald put his glass down with a repentant expression on his face. “I’m sorry, Rachel. Did I embarrass you?”

  Rachel paused, but then decided it was best to be honest with this man. “Yes, you did. I have never had anyone look at me the way you do, so openly, and it makes me feel...well, almost ashamed.”

  A strange look went across Gerald’s face, and then he smiled at Rachel. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m not used to being with a girl who doesn’t like to be looked at that way. I’m only staring at you because you’re—well, you’re very beautiful.”

  “And you weren’t expecting that, were you?”

  “Since we’re being blunt, no, I wasn’t.”

  Rachel smiled for the first time. “What were you
expecting?”

  “You won’t be mad if I tell you?”

  Rachel looked down at her meal. She wanted Gerald to keep talking. He was so handsome and no one had called her beautiful in a long time. Except Daniel, of course. “Go ahead. I think I have a pretty good idea.”

  Gerald took a sip of his wine and then smiled again. “When I heard you were an Amish girl, I had this picture in my mind of a large, shall we say, raw-boned girl, with calloused hands, laced-up boots covered with manure, and a hearty slap-on-the-back kind of attitude. You know, like what you would think a farmer is like—what my friends would call ‘horsey.’”

  Rachel laughed. “And I don’t fit that picture?”

  “You are as far away from that picture as the east is from the west.”

  Rachel looked at Gerald, and as she did, she realized that her heart was beating rapidly in her chest. He was well-mannered, friendly, obviously intelligent, and very handsome. He had a perspective on the world that was entirely foreign, yet somehow enticing.

  Just then Augusta returned to the table. A waiter holding another bottle of wine followed behind her. Augusta leaned over to Rachel. “Won’t you have a small glass of wine with us, Rachel? It’s a naïve domestic, but it’s surprisingly good.”

  “I...I don’t know. My parents have never let me drink wine. Besides, I’m not twenty-one.”

  “Oh, just one won’t hurt. After all, doesn’t the Bible say, ‘Thou dost cause the grass to grow for the cattle, and plants for man to cultivate, that he may bring forth food from the earth, and wine to gladden the heart of man, oil to make his face shine, and bread to strengthen man’s heart?”

  Rachel looked at Augusta with surprise. “You know the Bible?”

  “Well, of course, dear. I’ve been an Episcopalian all my life. I find great comfort in the truths of the Bible.”

  Rachel was confused. After what she had read in her grandmother’s journal, she had fully intended to despise these people. She blurted out a response. “If you think the Bible is so wonderful, why did you treat my grandmother the way you did when she came to New York?”

  Augusta put down her fork and reached over and took Rachel’s hand. “Let me be perfectly frank with you, Rachel. When your grandmother came to New York, she was the fourth or fifth girl who had shown up at my mother-in-law’s house claiming to have a relationship with Robert St. Clair. It was terribly upsetting to Margaret, your grandfather’s mother. So when Rachel showed up with a baby, how was I to know that she really was married to Robert? She showed me no proof. Max was dead, so he couldn’t confirm that your grandmother really was a St. Clair. He was so disappointed with Robert that he never showed us any of the pictures Robert sent him. In fact, he hid them away and we never found them. As far as I could tell, I was protecting my mother-in-law from further heartbreak.”

  Rachel wanted to pull away, but she held her hand still. “But you were so mean to her. She got put out on the street and she died. You can’t tell me that was just protecting my great-grandmother!”

  Augusta glanced at Gerald who was looking down at his plate. “Yes, Rachel, you’re right.”

  There was a pause. Augusta took a breath. “But here’s the reality. This is a different world than your bucolic farm life. Those of us with lots of money are constantly attracting grifters and phonies, investment bankers and attorneys. They’re like little parasites, everyone wanting to bite off a piece of what we have struggled to hold on to. They lie, cheat and steal to get what they want. It’s a sad fact, but in order to keep them away, you have to become like them. And when you do, it is very easy to turn out to be hard and grasping. I don’t like what I’ve become over the years, but I am a product of my environment. Knowing you, if I had to do it over again, I would probably treat your grandmother Rachel differently. But that was then and this is now. I’m very sorry about what happened to Robert’s wife, and I want to make it up to you. How can I do that?”

  Rachel sat very still for a long moment, looking back and forth between Augusta and Gerald. Augusta’s request had taken her by surprise. Then the moment and the setting and the smiling faces of the two people across from her wore down her resistance. She took her hand away from Augusta and picked up the empty glass in front of her. “I think you might start with a glass of that wine, Augusta.”

  *****

  Jenny Hershberger sat in the silent house with Jonathan. The room was dark except for the low light from a fire that had burned down to coals in the hearth. Before it went out, Jonathan stirred himself to put a few more logs on. Then he stood by the fireplace, leaning against the large stones that framed the opening. The day had been overcast and chilly, strange weather for early summer in Paradise. But for Jenny, the chill was in her heart.

  “Where could she be, Jonathan?”

  Jonathan rubbed the side of his head where the scar ran along his hairline. It was an unconscious habit he brought with him when he had returned to the farm four years before.

  “Daniel told us, Jenny. She’s with them, and only trouble will come of it.”

  Jenny’s heart was wrapped in a strange foreboding, tangible and oppressive. Around nine o’clock they heard a car coming up the driveway. The light from the headlamps cast strange shadows from the porch posts onto the walls of the room, like dark figures writhing in torment. Jenny heard a car door close and then the car drove around the circular driveway out front and retreated back down the lane. Soft footsteps came up the steps and across the porch. Jenny heard the screen door creak as it swung open. The latch clicked, and then Rachel was standing in the doorway. Jenny’s eyes met Rachel’s and her heart sank. There was defiance there, and by the set of her face, Jenny instinctively knew Rachel had made a decision.

  “Rachel, where have you been? It’s so late and we were worried.”

  “Mama, if Daniel came by, I think you know where I’ve been.”

  Rachel’s words had a strange slur and her hands twisted nervously in front of her.

  Jonathan stepped close to Rachel. He smelled something. “You’ve been drinking!”

  “I had a glass of wine with my dinner, and a very good dinner it was. The St. Clairs took me to the nicest place I’ve ever been and...and I liked it.”

  Jenny got to her feet.

  “The St. Clairs? Rachel, they are not good people. Augusta did terrible things to your grossmutter.”

  Rachel pulled off her shawl and turned to hang it on the peg by the door. “You know, Mama, there are always two sides to every story. Augusta told me all about what happened. She was very sorry for what she did. She told me she was only protecting her mother-in-law.”

  Jonathan took Rachel by the shoulder and spun her around. “She was only protecting her money, you little fool. Going off with those people and drinking! You are not twenty-one. While you live in my house, you will not go with Englischers or—”

  Rachel jerked her shoulder out of Jonathan’s grasp. “Your house? Again, Papa, it’s your house? Well, I have lived here longer than you. This is more my house than yours. Or is it Richard Sandbridge’s house? You don’t even know and neither do I.”

  The sound of the slap was like a cracking whip. Jonathan’s hand rose again, but Jenny leaped forward and grabbed her husband’s arm. “Jonathan! No!”

  Jonathan turned to Jenny. She felt the rigid arm relax and then it fell to his side. He looked at her helplessly.

  Rachel stood holding her hand to her face. The red mark across her cheek flamed in the flickering light and tears coursed down her face. Her words came like rifle bullets. “In the years to come, Papa, you will remember that it was you who closed the door.”

  Then she went down the hall to her room. The sound of the door slamming broke the night.

  *****

  The sun was trying to force its way into overcast sky when Jenny arose. She wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders against the unseasonable chill and looked down at her sleeping husband. The scar where he had been injured in the terrible explosion
so many years ago was very visible along his hairline. Jenny reached down and softly stroked the hair into place.

  Oh, Jonathan. You’ve changed so much. Somewhere along this road you lost the part of you that loves life. It is so hard for you, and it is not anything you did. I wish I could do something, but only du leiber Gott can heal your wounded heart.

  Jenny sighed and left the room. She looked at the crack under Rachel’s door to see if her daughter was up, but there was no light and no sound coming from the room. She went upstairs to her study.

  Ever since she had come back to Paradise, this room had been her refuge. She went to the pale birch desk that sat under the long window, the desk her papa had made for her. Her hand caressed the smooth wood, sanded so beautifully that it felt soft to the touch. Jenny pulled out her chair and sat down. She pushed the piles of papers and notes aside and laid her head on the table.

  “Oh, Papa! How I wish you were here. I would wrap myself in your arms and listen to your wonderful voice telling me that everything would be all right. I need you, Papa.”

  Jenny remembered another sunrise, long ago, when she had been despairing of ever living again. That dawn had come creeping into her room like a mischievous child, softly kissing her awake with the delicate touch of a rose-colored morning. Jenny remembered opening her eyes that long-ago morning and seeing the pale colors blushing in the fresh sky. She had risen and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, just like she had this morning, and slipped outside.

  The day was fresh and clean and warm, and the grass felt cool and damp against my bare feet. The plum trees were just sending forth their tiny, pink buds. A single wren twittered its call and stillness lay on the land.

  Jenny rubbed the smooth surface of the desk. She could almost feel her papa’s love emanating from the wood, the love that had sustained her and kept her all her life until the day...

  Jenny didn’t want to think about that other day, so she pushed her thoughts back to that morning, so long ago in Apple Creek. She remembered her papa coming out on the porch of their little house.

  You were dressed for work and you were so handsome. The circle of your arms was like a fortress and a strong tower. I felt life coming back into me. It was as though I had been raised from the dead! Your words comforted me so.