Susanna's Dream: The Lost Sisters of Pleasant Valley, Book Two

by Marta Perry

  For a moment he could see her struggling to hold back. Then she let out a shaky breath. “I guess I could stand to tell someone about it. I can’t trouble your mamm with it now, and there isn’t . . .”

  She let that die out, but he could guess the rest. Susanna was oddly isolated for an Amish woman, with no family nearby, no spouse, no girlhood friends to rely on.

  “Whatever it is, I can at least listen.” He leaned against the counter, waiting.

  “Denke.” She pressed her hand against her forehead. “It’s all so odd that I can’t quite believe it happened, let alone think what to do about it.”

  “The woman said something that upset you,” he prompted.

  “Ja. She said . . . She said she is my sister.”

  He stared at her, his mind refusing to process it. “She said you are her sister? Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand?”

  “I almost wish I had.” Susanna’s voice got a bit stronger, as if deciding to tell him had given her strength. “Her name is Chloe Wentworth. She moved here not long ago, and she’s writing some kind of paper about Amish crafts and the people who make them. Your mamm and I have helped her some, letting her take photos of our stock and introducing her to some of the people who make things for us.”

  “Ja, I remember Mamm mentioning something about it.” Mamm had seemed to like the woman, he’d thought.

  “Chloe said that she hadn’t known very long herself about it. That Lydia Beachy, from over in Pleasant Valley, is also our sister. That our real parents were killed in an accident when we were small, and we were split up and adopted by different families.”

  He frowned. “Is that the Beachy that has the apple orchard?”

  “Ja, Lydia and Adam Beachy. Do you know them?”

  “We get apples and cider from them for the store.” He frowned, trying to pin down a fragment of memory. “Seems to me I did hear something about an Englisch relative coming to visit them. But still, this seems like a fanciful story, coming out of the blue.”

  “Chloe said that they waited to tell me because my mamm was so sick.” Tears filled her eyes. “But now I can’t even ask her if it’s true.”

  “I’m sorry.” He patted her arm awkwardly, wanting to stem her tears and not sure how to do it. How would he feel in such a situation? “I guess the thing to ask is whether you really want to find out, or just ignore it.”

  Susanna blinked back the tears. “At first I wanted to wipe it away. But I can’t, can I? I have to know. If my parents kept it from me all these years—well, I have to understand.”

  Little wonder she’d been upset, with an Englischer she hardly knew coming to her with such a tale. There were troubled people in the world, after all, and he was quite ready to believe this woman was one of them. But Adam and Lydia Beachy wouldn’t be involved in anything that wasn’t right.

  “If you were to go to Lydia Beachy . . .” he began.

  Susanna made a pushing-away gesture. “I don’t think I can. It was hard enough hearing it from Chloe.”

  He thought he understood. “You need someone who knows but isn’t so involved, ja? What about Bishop Mose?”

  “Bishop Mose?” she repeated, looking a bit confused.

  “The bishop over in Pleasant Valley,” he explained. “You can’t tell me this is going on among his people without his knowing about it.”

  “Chloe did say something about the bishop telling Lydia how to find me. So he must know about it.” Susanna rubbed her arms. “It’s just . . . ferhoodled, thinking other folks might know something about me that I don’t know myself.”

  Susanna was sounding more controlled, and she looked better, as if talking it over with him had helped her get a hold on the situation. The tears had gone, for now at least.

  “Talk to Bishop Mose, that’s my advice. You can depend on him to tell you the truth.” He hesitated, but discovered that he couldn’t leave Susanna’s worries so easily. She’d confided in him, and giving her advice meant taking on some responsibility. “I know him. I’ll go with you.”

  “I can’t ask you to go to so much trouble. Your store takes up your days.”

  “Ach, it will do my workers good to be in charge for a few hours.” If he was going to do this, he’d do it right. “I’ll send one of the girls from the store over to mind your shop tomorrow afternoon, just so Mamm doesn’t get any ideas about coming in. And I’ll see to a car. Just be ready about one, ja?”

  “But . . .” Susanna still looked troubled, but he wasn’t sure whether it was over the prospect of learning the truth or spending an afternoon in his company.

  “It’s the least my mother would expect, ain’t so?” He clasped her hand for an instant. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He made a hasty retreat before she could argue. And all the way back to the shop, he wondered how it had happened that instead of giving Susanna an ultimatum about the shop, he’d ended up stuck with going to Pleasant Valley with her.

  * * *

  Chloe

  bent over a tomato plant, emulating Lydia’s actions as she picked plump, red tomatoes for slicing. The aroma teased her senses in a way a store-bought tomato never could.

  “Anyway, I’m sorry. I never should have attempted to tell Susanna the truth without having you there.”

  She’d arrived at Lydia and Adam’s farm that afternoon to confess what a mess she’d made of things and had found Lydia in her garden, picking vegetables for supper. The two boys were chasing each other through the apple orchard, followed by Shep, the mixed-breed dog who was devoted to them. The sound of a hammer in the barn gave away Adam’s location.

  Lydia had been quiet for so long that Chloe had begun to wish she’d yell, or scold, or something. But that wasn’t Lydia’s way. She finally straightened, stretching her back as if bending over had become more difficult in recent days. The Amish dress and apron might have been designed to hide a woman’s pregnancy, but nothing could hide the joy Lydia felt at being pregnant again at last.

  “Don’t worry yourself so much about it,” Lydia said. “It’s done now. It’s certain-sure that however we did it, the news would be a shock, I fear.”

  Chloe nodded, her throat tightening at the thought of Susanna’s frozen expression. “Poor Susanna. She seems so alone, and if her partner wants to give up the shop, I don’t know what she’ll do. I just wanted to help.”

  “Ach, I know that, and I’m sure Susanna will understand it, someday.”

  “Someday.” Chloe grimaced, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “That sounds like a long time.”

  “It took you a while to get used to the idea, as I recall.” Lydia smiled. “You had some funny ideas about the Amish as well, ain’t so?”

  “Most of those ideas were planted by my grandmother.” Chloe shook her head. “But I can’t lay all the blame on her. I’m not sure how I could study Pennsylvania folk art and yet remain so ignorant about the Amish culture.”

  “You’re not ignorant now. I heard you talking to the boys in Pennsylvania Dutch.”

  “Using my few words,” Chloe said. “Daniel and David are awfully patient with their aunt.” She paused, her hand wrapped around a sun-warm tomato. “I suppose I thought the news might be a little easier for Susanna to accept since she’s Amish. Maybe it would have been if it had come from you.” Guilt reared its head again.

  “There’s no easy way to tell someone she’s not who she thinks she is.” Lydia turned toward the pepper plants, standing like neat little trees in a row. “Just a couple of peppers, and that’s enough.”

  “Let me get them.” Chloe stepped over a sprawling winter squash vine. “My little niece or nephew is probably tired of being squished every time you bend over.”

  Lydia shook her head at that, but she let Chloe pick the peppers and put them in her basket.

  “Do you think I should go and see Susanna?” Lydi
a asked as they moved toward the edge of the garden.

  Chloe hesitated, unsure. “Maybe it would be better to let her get used to the idea for a couple of days. Let her adjust to it, and then we can both go and try again.”

  Lydia nodded. “Ja, all right. Monday, then. I can get a driver—”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ll come for you.” It was a pleasure to be able to provide transportation when Lydia needed it for the places she couldn’t easily reach by horse and buggy.

  “Denke. That would be kind.” At least she’d stopped arguing every time about Chloe driving her. “You’d think those boys would tire out, but it doesn’t happen.” Lydia glanced toward the orchard where the game, whatever it was, was still going on.

  Chloe followed the direction of her gaze. It seemed to satisfy some longing in her just to glance across the pastoral scene. Even the angle of the sun announced the turning of the seasons, and Lydia’s garden was a band of bright color across the field, overflowing with pumpkins, winter squash, tomatoes, deep purple eggplants, peppers in every color, and the late crop of lettuce Lydia had planted as the days grew cooler.

  Chloe had to laugh at herself. She was starting to think like someone accustomed to the land, instead of a yuppie whose closest approach to a garden used to be a stroll through a city park.

  Beyond the lane that led out to the road, the orchard stretched to the next farm—that belonging to Seth Miller’s family. The apple trees were heavy with fruit already starting to ripen. Lydia had promised, or maybe threatened was a better word, to teach her to make apple dumplings this fall.

  A tall figure moved through the orchard toward them.

  “There is Seth coming,” Lydia said. “I’ll take the vegetables in. I’m certain-sure he’s coming to see you, not me.” Lydia’s eyes danced with mischief.

  Chloe tried not to think about the kiss he’d given her earlier, for fear Lydia would read it in her face. “I’m not so sure. I hear he had a crush on you when you were younger.”

  “Silly boy and girl stuff,” Lydia said, laughing. “Go on, now, before Seth thinks he’s not wilkom here.” She headed off to the house.

  It was just a kiss, Chloe repeated as she walked toward the orchard. Just a kiss, that’s all.

  Before she reached Seth, her nephews spotted her and came running, Shep lagging behind. Daniel and David might not be tired, but Shep’s tongue was hanging out.

  “Aunt Chloe! Did you come to play ball with us?” Daniel showed her the softball he’d been tossing. At nearly nine, he was more comfortable speaking English than David, who’d just started to learn the language last year.

  David gave her a throttling hug. “Please,” he said, blue eyes pleading.

  “I have to talk to Seth a little first,” she said, managing to meet Seth’s eyes as he approached. “Then I’ll play.”

  “Then we’ll both play,” Seth said, catching on. “Okay?”

  “Ja, great.” Daniel tugged his younger brother’s arm when David seemed about to protest. “Komm. We’ll finish our chores, and then we can play ’til supper.”

  David pouted for perhaps thirty seconds. Then he nodded, grinned, and the two boys raced off.

  “Must be serious,” Seth said. “I don’t usually come before your nephews.”

  Chloe suspected he could see her embarrassment. Any protest at his assumption would lead in a direction she didn’t think she wanted to go.

  “Let’s sit down for a moment.” She led the way to the bench Adam had created from the stump of an old tree that had come down in a storm back in the spring. The other apple trees arched over them like the roof of a church, apples glowing yellow and red.

  Seth followed her, sitting down and looking warily at her. “Well? What is it?”

  “I told Susanna the truth today,” she said bluntly. “I shouldn’t have, but it just came out.”

  Somewhat to her surprise, his expression didn’t change all that much. She’d expected some sign that he was disappointed in her.

  “What happened when you told her?” His tone was carefully neutral.

  “It didn’t go well. She was shocked, upset, disbelieving.” She felt the weight of it dragging her down.

  “Pretty much like you were when I told you,” Seth said.

  She shrugged. “Just about. Isn’t this where you remind me that you said this would happen?”

  “I don’t want to give you a reason to explode,” he said, his lips twitching.

  “I am not given to exploding,” she said, and couldn’t help but relax a bit.

  Seth shrugged, clasping his hands around his knee. In jeans and a navy T-shirt, he seemed to fit into his surroundings, but he definitely didn’t look Amish. “Maybe it would have been better to wait, but I’m not sure the result would have been any different. It was bound to be a shock. What does Lydia say?”

  “Just about the same thing,” Chloe admitted, managing a rueful smile. “You know, I’m like Daniel and David, wanting her to say it will be all right.”

  “Everybody needs to hear that from time to time,” Seth said. “It’s not a sign of weakness.”

  “No?” She arched an eyebrow at him.

  “No. And while we’re on the subject of confessing, there’s something I should get off my chest.”

  He was going to bring up that kiss, and it was the last thing she wanted to talk about. “You don’t need to—”

  Seth stopped her with a gesture. “Yeah, I do. I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to kiss you last night.”

  Chloe decided to throw caution to the wind. “Why not? I mean, not that I’m saying you should have, but we’re both adults. It was only a kiss.” A kiss that left her longing for more, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “Unfortunately, we’re not in our usual surroundings, either one of us. How would Lydia react if she heard about it? Or my mother, for that matter?”

  “They’d be filling a hope chest for me.” He was right, she had to admit. “A casual fling isn’t in Lydia’s vocabulary.”

  “Nor my mother’s. I’d feel like a sixteen-year-old on his way to his first singing if they knew we . . .”

  He hesitated for so long she thought he wouldn’t finish. And she certainly wasn’t going to help him out. This conversation was like juggling dynamite.

  “. . . were attracted to each other,” he said finally. “If we don’t want a lot of unwelcome attention, we have to be discreet.”

  “Discreet,” she repeated the word. “So what exactly does that mean?”

  His hand slid over hers where it lay on the bench between them. He began to trace small circles on the back of her hand with his fingertips.

  “It means not giving them anything to talk about,” he said, but the glint in his eyes seemed to belie the words.

  “So no more kisses, you’re saying,” she said. Dynamite had been the right comparison, judging by how his touch was affecting her just now.

  “Right,” he murmured. Their gazes collided, and he seemed to lose track of his intent. “Well, except maybe on special occasions. What—”

  “Seth, are you holding my aunt Chloe’s hand?” Daniel’s accusing tone had them pulling apart.

  She didn’t know about Seth, but Chloe felt ridiculously guilty.

  “No, of course not.” Seth held up both hands. “See? Now, how about some ball-playing?”

  Seth rose, and Chloe followed suit, hoping neither of her nephews noticed how pink her cheeks were.

  She loved having a family. She really did. But they certainly could complicate a person’s life.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Susanna

  hesitated, her hand on the cash box, looking at the teenage girl Nate had brought to the shop to help. “Do you want me to go over it again, Anna Mae?”

  There was the faintest toss of the head in response, and something that was p
robably resentment showed for a moment in the girl’s eyes. “You don’t need to. I get it fine.”

  Nate, who’d been waiting with a semblance of patience, gave her a sharp look, and pretty little Anna Mae was suddenly all charm. “Please don’t worry, Susanna. I am happy to watch the shop for you, and I’ll do just as you’ve shown me.”

  “Gut. Denke.” There seemed nothing else to say, so Susanna donned her sweater and bonnet.

  Anna Mae, perhaps to make up for her momentary annoyance, was exclaiming over the assortment of candles on the counter. Susanna was about to respond when she realized that the chatter was aimed not at her but at Nate.

  Well. Did Nate realize that the girl had a crush on him? She didn’t suppose Nate missed much.

  Anna Mae must be at least twelve or thirteen years younger than Nate. Still, that age gap seemed to work out fine in some marriages. Nate, a widower for so long, couldn’t be blamed if he responded to the glowing youth and prettiness of the girl. Next to her, Susanna felt old, awkward, and washed out.

  “Are you ready?” Nate said, perhaps preventing himself from adding “finally” at the end of the question. He was probably regretting his offer to take her to Pleasant Valley to see the bishop.

  As for her . . . well, now that the time had come, Susanna felt a fierce longing to stay right here where she belonged. But she couldn’t, so she’d better put a good face on it.

  “Ja, I’m ready.” She went resolutely toward the door and the car that waited outside, but she was quailing inside. Did she really want to know the truth about her parentage? And of more immediate concern, what on earth would she find to talk about to Nate during the half-hour drive?

  Nate opened the car door for her, and she got in. He slid into the backseat next to her, startling her. She’d thought perhaps he’d ride with the driver up front. He leaned forward, exchanging a few words in English with the stocky, middle-aged Englischer, and then he settled back on the seat as the car pulled from the curb.

  Susanna swallowed her panic. Like it or not, she was on her way.

  By the time they reached the bridge that spanned the river, Susanna was desperate to break the silence between them. She cleared her throat, afraid her voice was going to come out rusty.