Annie leaned forward, gripping her father’s seat in one hand and pointing with the other. “See the lane? Turn left. It’s a long driveway.”
Brad Friesen slowed the car and made the turn. Gravel ground under the tires as he let the natural grade of the lane draw the vehicle toward the house.
Annie spotted Franey in the garden. She put her window down and waved. Franey returned the wave then let her hoe drop into the dirt. She made her way toward the vehicle, arriving just as the car came to a stop and wiping her hands on a flour-sack apron.
“You remember my parents? You met once last summer, out at Mo’s.”
“Yes, of course.” Franey leaned in the window and gave the welcoming smile that greeted all guests to her home. “You must come in for some refreshment.”
“Thank you. That would be lovely.” Annie was out of the car before her mother could protest, though she saw the way her parents looked at each other and slowly exited the car. “Don’t you want to see the quilt, Mom? You gave me some scraps for it, remember?”
“Why, yes, that would nice.” Myra turned to Franey. “We just have a moment, though, so please don’t put yourself out.”
“It’s no bother. We have a houseful right now anyway.” Franey waved an open hand toward her home. “Please come inside.”
Annie scanned the wide yard for any sign of Rufus. Even just a moment alone would bolster her. He was nowhere in sight, though. The door to the workshop was shut tight with no lights showing in the windows. The barn was closed, but Annie realized two horses were missing from the pasture where they usually grazed while they were not out pulling buggies.
“The men are out looking at the work that needs to be done on the Stutzmans’ house,” Franey said.
Annie held her breath against the urge to sigh and stepped toward the house. “Sorry, Dad. Guess you’re stuck with girl talk.”
Brad Friesen took his daughter’s hand, and Annie returned the squeeze that had always been their secret reassurance.
Inside, Franey said, “Please make yourselves comfortable. I’ll clean up a bit and get some iced tea.” She disappeared into the kitchen.
Annie watched her mother’s eyes move around the room. She knew the questions behind her gaze. The first time she came into the Beilers’ home Annie whipped out her iPhone and tapped in an Internet search on Amish bathrooms. Even though her mother had been in Annie’s home, which used alternate sources of energy rather than electricity, the curiosity factor was sure to be high in an authentic Amish home.
“It seems quite comfortable.” Myra tentatively selected a seat on a sofa and signaled to Brad that he should sit beside her.
“Relax, Mom. I’ll get the quilt.”
Annie went to the cedar chest under the wide window framing a view of the Sangre de Cristos. Though she grew up in the foothills of the Rockies and had barely noticed them when she lived in the Springs, Annie did not tire of the peaks she now saw every day. She snuck a look while she lifted the lid of the chest and gathered a bundle of Amish hues into her arms. Leaning up against one end of the chest was the lap quilting frame she used each week. Annie picked it up, still reluctant to concede that she could not spend the afternoon quilting.
Across the room Annie dropped the frame into a chair and used both hands to spread the quilt out in the open space, making sure one corner landed in her mother’s lap.
“You made this?” Myra slipped one hand under the blue corner and let the fingers of the other hand graze the stitching.
Annie nodded. “It’s just nine-patch squares. Nothing fancy to start with. Franey said I could use a treadle machine, but I wanted my first quilt to be handmade.”
“The colors are lovely.” Myra’s expression softened.
“Do you see the brown?” Annie smiled. “That’s the dress you made for Penny when she was in the play her senior year.”
“I remember. And the dark green is the curtains we used to have in the kitchen. You and Penny were so little then.”
Annie pointed to a patch. “There wasn’t much of this pink, but I wanted to use it somehow. It was Franey’s idea to put it at the center of each nine-patch.”
“Did I hear my name?” Franey entered with four glasses of tea on an unadorned wooden tray. She bent slightly for the Friesens to get hold of the drinks then set the tray on a side table and picked up a corner of the quilt still held together with long, evenly spaced basting stitches. “Our Annalise is learning quickly.”
Annie sucked on her bottom lip as she watched her mother’s reaction to the endearment in Franey’s words.
“Annie masters everything she puts her mind to,” Myra said, her smile fading and brow furrowing. “It started when she was three and a half and decided to do handstands.”
“It is an admirable quality,” Franey said. “God blessed us richly when He sent her into our lives. But I’m sure you feel the same way.”
Myra reached and covered Annie’s hand. “And we hope to have her with us for many more years.”
Now Annie sucked her top lip.
“We would love to have you visit us any time you come to Westcliffe to see Annalise,” Franey said.
No one but Annie and Penny would recognize the miniscule straightening of Myra’s spine, the movement that came just before her mama bear roar.
Annie stood quickly. “My parents surprised me with the news that my sister is coming home for a few days. They are hoping to have us all together.”
Franey raised her eyebrows and turned her lips up. “Yes, you should do that.”
The sound of rapid steps brought Edna Stutzman and her three daughters down the front stairs.
“Whose quilt is that?” Beth took the corner of the quilt from Myra’s lap.
“These are our houseguests,” Franey said. She made introductions quickly. “Annalise was showing her mother the work she has done on her quilt.”
“That it explains it then,” Beth said. “It is the work of a beginner. At least she’s trying hard.”
Annie swallowed a retort. Humble, humble, humble. “Franey is teaching me every Saturday.”
Beth pulled the yardage through her hands in three swift tugs. “I could work on this in the evenings for you. It has potential.”
Franey gently lifted the quilt from Beth’s hands and folded it properly. “It can wait until Annalise has time. After she spends a few days with her family.”
Annie met Franey’s eyes. On the sofa, her mother shifted in agitation.
Ike Stutzman put his finger to a chin buried in beard.
Rufus remembered that Ike had been doing that since he was a young man with neither wife nor beard. Ike had a pronounced cleft in his chin and his finger fit there nicely. Rufus was not the only boy to imitate the gesture with a snicker when he was Jacob’s age. Doing it once in the presence of his father, though, halted the fun. A month doing the chores of three boys persuaded Rufus that imitation was not all that amusing. But he smiled now at the thought that Ike still put his finger in his chin when he was thinking.
“It sounds like fine land, of course.” Ike nodded. “And you make a good point about participating in community decisions if we are to also benefit from the outcomes.”
“I’m glad you see it that way.” Rufus nudged the team to a brisker pace. Annalise should be at the house by now, working on her quilt.
“However, in this case it seems a frivolous matter, and I would have to advise against it.”
Eli’s voice from the bench behind them saved Rufus from having to respond. “Ike, you just got here. You have plenty of other things on your mind.”
“It seems like a simple enough matter,” Ike said. “We have an abundance of God’s handiwork here. Our people do not need hiking trails to see that.”
Eli nudged Ike’s shoulder. “Perhaps you would get to know some of your neighbors in the process.”
Ike’s sons also were in the back of the wagon. Rufus wondered where Joel was—again. Joel could at least extend friendship
to Mark and Luke while the Stutzmans were their houseguests. Joel’s new habit of disappearing from his work in the family fields had reached disconcerting frequency. His father was sure to step in soon.
The horses knew to turn into the lane.
“We have visitors,” Eli said when the house came into view.
Ike huffed. “English.”
“Our neighbors nevertheless.”
Rufus took in the scene. A late-model silver Toyota, spanking clean, parked close to the house. If Annalise was there, she was not alone.
Franey laid the quilt on top of the chest and looked out the window. “The men are back. I should pour more iced tea.”
“I’ll help you.” Annie ignored her mother’s helpless gaze, picked up the tray Franey had set aside earlier, and followed Franey into the kitchen. If Rufus put the horses away and came in through the back door she could see him, even if for just a moment.
Franey moved swiftly around the kitchen, setting out glasses, filling them with ice, and pouring cold tea. Annie dawdled with a stack of cloth napkins, running thumb and forefinger over the folded edge of each one before laying it on the tray.
“Don’t worry. Rufus will be along.” Franey lifted the tray and held it out to Annie.
Annie let out a sigh and returned to the front room to serve the men. Her mother still sat on the sofa, looking unsure of where to let her eyes settle. She was trying not to stare. Annie gave her credit for that much. Her father stood to shake the hands of Eli and Ike, comfortably meeting their gazes.
Ice clinked in glasses as conversation turned to work the Stutzmans needed to do on their new house to make it suitable for an Amish family. Talk of painting made Annie realize she had not seen Rufus yet. While she mentally speculated about where he might be and half listened to talk of propane appliances, she cocked her head for the sound of steps in the kitchen. As long as Annie did not meet her mother’s eyes, Myra would not interrupt to urge their departure.
Finally she heard the screen door chink into its framed notch. Excusing herself, Annie picked up several empty tea glasses and headed for the kitchen. Rufus was at the sink washing his hands.
“You’ve had a busy morning.” Annie moved to the sink and set the glasses down. Standing beside him, she looked up.
He rewarded her with a smile. “Looks to me like you’ve had a change of plans yourself.”
Her shoulders sank.
“What is it? Aren’t you happy to see your parents?”
“I should be happy. My sister is coming home. My mother wants me to stay with them for a few days.”
“Well, that’s good. You haven’t seen your sister in a long time.”
“Not since before…all this.”
“Last summer, you were the one who persuaded me that I should see my sister Ruth after a year and a half of silence.” Rufus reached for a dish towel and dried his hands. “I hate to see you fall into the same trap. You should go.”
“I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I made a choice. Once we see each other face-to-face, I know Penny will understand.” She wanted him to raise his hand to her cheek. Or cover her hand with his. Or smile again. Or something.
He reached into a cupboard for a glass and poured the last of the tea into it. And yet he said nothing more.
“Well,” Annie finally said. “They’re waiting. I guess I should go.”
He nodded then dumped the cold drink down his gullet.
When she heard the swish of skirts, Annie turned to see Beth standing in the doorway to the dining room. She crossed her arms on her chest, suddenly self-conscious that she was wearing jeans and a tee.
Beth smiled, her eyes fixed on Rufus. “I’m glad you’re back. But don’t get too comfortable. Your mamm and my mamm suggest that you give me a tour of the area this afternoon. Once I know my way around, I’ll be able to help with errands.”
Annie glanced at Rufus, who caught her eye. “I’ve just put the horses away,” he said.
“But it’s a fine day for a ride in an open cart. Little Jacob would love to go with us. He’s such a beautiful boy.” Beth smoothed her rich blue dress.
“Perhaps Lydia and Sophie would like to take you,” Rufus said.
“They seem to be busy today.” Beth tugged one prayer kapp string.
Rufus shifted his weight.
He was going to do it. Annie heard it in the way he softly cleared his throat. Rufus was going to take Beth Stutzman on a tour.
She broke her pose. “I should see how my parents are getting along.”
Seven
Ruth Beiler let her overstuffed dark green backpack plop onto her narrow bed. She rolled her shoulders, trying to urge out the hunch of nine hours in the university library staring at textbooks and computer screens.
The corner of the letter stuck out of the tall zippered compartment on the side of the bag. Looking at it, Ruth pressed her lips together. Then she turned her back on it, going instead to the narrow counter where she kept an electric kettle. She rattled the kettle.
Empty.
Ruth walked across the four-room suite to a sink and filled the kettle.
“Hey, Beiler!”
Ruth looked up to see the young woman who had moved into the suite in the middle of the spring term. Lauren sat on the love seat in the common area with her booted feet propped up on the coffee table. As usual, she wore fatigues. Though the brown T-shirt fit snugly, the camouflage pants generally were baggy and held in place by a belt.
“Hi, Lauren. Did you hear from your brother today?”
Lauren tipped her blond head in a practiced gesture. “Yep. He has a month’s leave before being reassigned for his new tour. I’ll see him next weekend.”
“I’m so glad for you.”
Lauren stood, and Ruth saw once again the uneven gait that had resulted from a fractured kneecap—and which kept Lauren out of the army herself. Her father, an officer stationed at Fort Carson in Colorado Springs, had served three tours in Iraq. Her brother, stationed out of North Carolina, had been abroad for most of the last two years.
Despite Lauren’s enthusiasm for all things military, she was Ruth’s favorite suitemate. Neither of them dressed to fit in. Lauren favored her army clothes, and Ruth dressed in long skirts and modest blouses.
Ruth lifted the full kettle. “I was about to make tea. Want some?”
Lauren shook her head and let her feet thud to the floor. “My study group is meeting in a few minutes. I should get my junk together and go.”
“Another time, then.” Ruth stepped toward her room. “It would be good to chat.”
“Tomorrow night.”
Ruth looked up again. “Tea tomorrow?”
Lauren shook her head. “Let’s go out. Dinner will be my treat.”
“Oh.” Ruth could not find a place to fix her eyes, except on the kettle in one hand. “I probably should stay in. I have an exam on Tuesday morning.”
“You need to let loose, Beiler. Just relax for a change. Between your classes and your job at the nursing home, you never take a minute for yourself. Let’s get a decent meal.”
“Maybe we should decide tomorrow.” Ruth had never been out on a Sunday night, except for the singings at home. Going to a restaurant did not seem like keeping the Sabbath.
Lauren laughed. “When my parents say something like that, they mean no. But I’m not going to let you get away with that, Beiler.”
Ruth rubbed the end of a sleeve between thumb and forefinger. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
Back in her room, she plugged in the kettle, took a tea bag out of the box, and dropped it in a mug.
The letter tugged at her.
Elijah’s tight, meticulous script had brushed her heart when she removed the envelope from her student mailbox. It was not his first. In the last six months, he had written four times and he lost no opportunity to make plain his undimmed affection for her. More than affection. Love. The difference was that this letter was the first since she replied to one of hi
s.
Almost as soon as she pushed her letter through the slot in the sidewalk mailbox, Ruth regretted it. She had not written anything particularly personal, certainly not a true expression of her own feelings. But writing at all would encourage Elijah, and that was wrong. he was a baptized member of the Amish church, and she had run out on her baptism.
Run out on Elijah. Run out on the future they dreamed of.
How he could still feel anything for her after that, she would never understand. There was no going back. While she still felt plain at heart and lived simply, she would never go back to the Amish church. God had made her to be a nurse, and she intended to answer the call. She refused to be the reason for Elijah to break his vows to the church.
The kettle whistled, and Ruth once again turned away from the unopened letter.
Penny’s flight was fourteen minutes early.
Annie stood between her parents just beyond the security line on the main level of the twelve-gate Colorado Springs airport. Her mother had been tracking Penny’s flights on her phone since before she left Seattle. In front of them, an eager three-year-old sighted his grandmother among the disgorgement of plane passengers. Calling and running toward her, he violated the security zone. Though his father snatched him back, it was too late. The alarm blared, startling everyone. The boy wailed briefly but instantly settled when his grandmother reached for him.
Business travelers looking for drivers holding signs with their names.
Families dragging strollers and diaper bags.
Solo passengers looking lost and weary.
And people like Penny, who strode at a confident clip pulling pilot cases behind them and knowing exactly where they were going.
In the moment that she hugged her sister, Annie was glad she had come home with her parents. She did not often admit to herself that she missed Penny—especially since she had given up using a cell phone and e-mail—but she did.
“Did you check a bag?” Brad Friesen asked his eldest daughter.
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