Amish Outsider

by Marta Perry

  His face whitened as if she’d struck him, and he darted a look toward his daughter. “I...” He stopped, his lips clamping shut for an instant. She could only hope he saw the justice in her words.

  Michael’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need your help in raising my daughter.” It had a note of finality. Would she see Allie in her classroom again?

  “You may not,” she said, ignoring the little voice that told her she’d gone too far. “But Allie does.”

  Quickly, before he could speak, she spun and marched away, praying he couldn’t tell how she was shaking.

  * * *

  MICHAEL TOOK ALLIE HOME, where Aunt Verna waited with milk and homemade oatmeal cookies. Allie slid onto her chair and then sat there, staring at the milk and cookie in front of her but not moving.

  Aunt Verna sent Michael a questioning glance. He shook his head slightly, but he knew why Allie had withdrawn. Because of him. Because he’d failed in the first simple task he’d attempted in their new home.

  Cathy’s words and expression intruded, and he had the sense that wherever she was, she’d still be frowning at him. Maybe he’d owed her an explanation of why he’d been late. Maybe. Certainly he owed it to Allie.

  Pulling out the chair next to his daughter, he sat down, scooting a little closer. He put one hand on the back of her chair, wanting to touch her but afraid she’d pull away.

  “I’m sorry, Allie. I should have been there to pick you up on time.”

  Her face tightened a little, and she didn’t look at him. Obviously it would take more than that.

  “I had a phone call just when I was going to leave.” An unwelcome call. “It was kind of official. Do you know what that means?”

  This time he got a shake of the head.

  “That means it was the kind of thing you have to take care of right away.” Should he mention the police? He’d tried to shelter her from the events around her mother’s death, but he didn’t know how much she’d heard or how garbled it had been. “It’s a rule. Like the rules you have in school. Does Teacher Cathy have any rules?”

  His daughter’s face seemed to come to life. “Always be kind. That’s the first rule. It’s on the chalkboard.”

  “That’s a gut rule,” Aunt Verna said. “Everyone is happier when we are kind.”

  Allie nodded. “That’s what Teacher Cathy said.”

  Michael had a feeling he was going to get tired of hearing what Teacher Cathy said before long. “Well, this is a rule about talking to someone. But it was time to pick you up, so I persuaded him to wait until I got you home. All that made me late. I’m really sorry.”

  Allie considered for a moment. Then she took a large bite of oatmeal cookie and spoke around it. “It’s okay.”

  “Good.” He felt relieved as if he’d passed a test. “I’ll go outside and wait for the man I need to talk to, and maybe afterward we can help in the greenhouses.”

  He stood, pausing to drop a light kiss on the top of her head. Allie seemed to have forgiven him. It would take a lot longer for him to forgive himself.

  Michael made it outside just as the police car turned into the lane. He spotted Lige, working in one of the greenhouses, look up, and waved to indicate he’d take care of the visitor. He’d rather Lige go on assuming it was a customer, at least for the moment.

  The car pulled up and stopped in the graveled parking area in front of the first greenhouse. When Chief Jamison climbed out, Michael had a flash of memory—the chief breaking up one of the more rowdy teen parties. He hadn’t needed to raise his voice. He’d just looked around, as if mentally taking names, and one by one they’d slipped away.

  Jamison hadn’t changed much in ten years. His stocky figure might have been a few pounds heavier, and there was a bit more gray in the reddish hair, but Jamison’s blue eyes rested on him in exactly the same assessing way.

  Michael found himself stiffening, as defensive as a fifteen-year-old caught out after curfew. Jamison approached, giving him an unsmiling nod.

  “Michael. It’s been a long time.”

  “Ten years.” The less he said the better. He’d learned that lesson in his first go-round with the police, with Diana’s body still lying at the bottom of the basement stairs.

  When he’d looked his fill, Jamison turned toward the display racks of flowers. “Let’s have a look around at the plants. No point in advertising why I’m here.”

  That was consideration Michael hadn’t expected. Together they walked over to the flats of geraniums and pansies.

  “Checking up on me?” Michael tried for an easiness he didn’t feel.

  Jamison shrugged. “Had a call from the Harrisburg police about you.”

  No point in being angry—he should have expected it. “They want you to keep an eye on me, right?”

  “Not exactly.” Jamison reached out to finger the leaf of a pink geranium. “Just a friendly alert, you might say. And they wanted to know if you were really here.”

  “I suppose it does no good to tell you I didn’t do it.” Bitterness threaded his voice. He wouldn’t get away from the effects of Diana’s death if he traveled to the other side of the world.

  Jamison kept silent for several minutes, but Michael could feel the chief’s gaze on him. He stared steadily at the plants in front of him, barely seeing them.

  “Well, it’s this way.” The chief’s voice was noncommittal, without the open antagonism he’d received from the detectives who’d been assigned to the case. “Harrisburg might have charge of that investigation, but they don’t have jurisdiction here.”

  That might have comforted him, had he not been through the experiences of the past months. “But you’ll cooperate.”

  “Within reason.” There was a slight smile in his eyes. “We figure on treating folks fairly here.”

  If he really meant it, that would be a reassuring change. Michael was tempted to say that, but if he’d learned anything, it was not to volunteer information. Instead he nodded.

  Jamison studied his face for a moment, and then he shifted his gaze to something over Michael’s shoulder. “Well, now, who’s this?”

  Michael swung around to find that Allie had come out of the house. She stood a few feet away, and her gaze went from the stranger to him. Michael held out his hand, and she came and took it.

  “This is Allie. My daughter.” He didn’t think it necessary for Allie to know the chief’s name. With any luck, she wouldn’t be seeing him again.

  “Hi there, Allie.” Jamison had always had a quick smile and easy manner with the kids. “I need to get some of these geraniums for my wife. Which color do you like the best?”

  To Michael’s surprise, Allie actually seemed to warm up a little. She touched a pink geranium with a careful hand. “The pink ones. They’re the prettiest.”

  “You know, I think you’re right. Can you pick out a couple of these for me?”

  Allie nodded. She scrutinized the plants as if she’d been doing it forever. She picked up one, and then another. “They’re all nice, but these two are the best.”

  “I’ll take them. I’ll tell my wife they’re the prettiest ones, and she’ll put them out on our porch.” He took the money from his pocket and handed it to Allie.

  She took it gravely. “Thank you.”

  “Your aunt Verna’s got a good new salesperson, I can see that.” With a smile for Allie and a nod for Michael, he headed for his car.

  Prey to a succession of mixed feelings, Michael watched him leave. If Jamison had meant what he said about fairness... But he wasn’t taking anything for granted.

  He looked down at his daughter. “When did you learn how to sell flowers?”

  She shrugged, and for a moment it seemed she wouldn’t answer. “Aunt Verna says this is a family business, and I’m part of the family.” Then she smiled. “So it’s my business, too.”
/>
  Emotion seemed to have a stranglehold on his throat. All he could do was smile back at his child.

  * * *

  BY THE TIME she was helping her mother prepare supper, Cathy had managed to push that awkward exchange with Michael to the back of her mind. Maybe she couldn’t dismiss it entirely, but she didn’t have to dwell on it, did she?

  “Cathy, are you going to peel those potatoes or just look at them?” Her mother’s glance was half laughing, half questioning. She always seemed to know when one of her children was troubled.

  But this trouble wasn’t one Cathy thought she should share. She’d rather not look too deeply into the reason why.

  “Sorry, Mammi. I was thinking about school.” She rinsed the potatoes and picked up the peeler. “We had a new child today.”

  “I heard already. Michael Forster’s little girl, yah?”

  Cathy stopped midpeel. “How did you learn about that so quickly?”

  Her mother’s answer was a chuckle that showed the dimple in her right cheek...the same place Cathy had one. “You should know how fast news flies among the Amish. And when it’s about Michael... Well, I guess everyone is curious about him. It’s natural, ain’t so?”

  Curious or nosy? She suspected she knew how Michael would classify it. “Yah, maybe, but I hope that curiosity doesn’t extend to Allie. She’s only eight, and I hate to think of what she’s been through losing her mother like that. And now to be trying to settle in a new place among strangers...”

  “Poor child.” Mammi’s sympathy was immediate. “Is she going to fit in with your scholars, do you think?”

  A momentary smile teased at her lips. “She will if her cousin Ruthie has anything to say about it.” She’d regaled her mamm with precocious Ruthie’s comments more than once. “She’s so happy to have a new cousin her age. She just grabs Allie by the hand and leads her through everything.”

  “Ach, she’s a sweet little schnickelfritz, that’s for sure. It’s gut they’re the same age. It will make her feel at home, if anything will.”

  Cathy nodded agreement, but her thoughts went right back to Allie’s dismay when her father didn’t turn up on time. Cathy had done her best to reassure her, but it hadn’t been Teacher Cathy she’d needed in that moment. It had been her father.

  Cathy went back to peeling potatoes, wielding the peeler with such energy that the potato skins flew across the counter. Better to vent her feelings on the potatoes than on any person, including Michael.

  Her sister Mary, coming in the back door in a rush, was just in time to see one slice of peeling fly so far it hit the window.

  “Mamm, if you don’t take that peeler away from Cathy, you won’t have any potatoes left. Cathy, didn’t I ever show you the right way to do it?”

  She came straight to Cathy and attempted to take the implement from her hand. Cathy spun away, shrugging her off. That was Mary all over, always thinking she could do things better than anyone else. Or at least, better than her little sister.

  “I’ve got it.” Cathy just managed to add a smile. “What brings you here? Shouldn’t you be fixing your own family’s supper?”

  “I will, I will.” Mary planted her hands on rounded hips. She’d put on pounds since the arrival of the kinder, and she looked like what she was...a satisfied Amish matron, running her large family with ease and helping with her husband’s orchards as well. “I brought Mamm a bunch of rhubarb. Ours is a little further along than yours. Not enough for a pie, but you could make a dish of sauce.” She plopped a bag on the counter, the ruby-red ends of the rhubarb sticking out.

  Cathy looked at her, raising her eyebrows. “Sure you didn’t have another reason for stopping by? Or didn’t the Amish grapevine reach you?”

  Mary’s cheeks reddened, but she met Cathy’s gaze squarely. “Yah, all right. I heard some talk about Michael Forster bringing his child to our school, so I came to find out the truth of the story.”

  “That is the truth.” She didn’t mind talking about it with Mamm, but she’d rather not have this conversation with her sister.

  Mary made the clucking noise that expressed her disapproval. “Is it wise to have her in your school? Why can’t she go to the Englisch school? She’d fit in better there, for sure. It’s what she’d be used to.”

  This might be the first time she had to answer that question, but Cathy didn’t think it would be the last. She’d best figure out a convincing answer.

  “She’s there because she wants to be there with her cousin Ruthie. And because they are living with Verna Forster, and naturally Verna expects the child to be in the school she supports.”

  Mary frowned. “Yah, I guess I can understand about Verna. But what about Michael? He’s lived Englisch for ten years now. Why send his daughter to the Amish school? Unless... Does he want to return to the church?” Amazement entered her voice. Mary was looking at Cathy as if she should know the answers, but she didn’t.

  “How would I know?” Exasperation came through in her voice. “I wouldn’t be so nosy as to ask him.”

  “For sure you wouldn’t,” Mamm said, entering the fray. “Komm, now, Mary. It’s your sister’s job to teach the children who show up in the school. That’s what she’s doing.”

  Mary didn’t look satisfied. “But Michael... If half of what we heard is true, he was arrested for his wife’s death.” To do her justice, she sounded troubled, not condemning.

  “He was released,” Cathy pointed out. “And he was allowed to move away. That must mean the police don’t think he had anything to do with it, ain’t so?”

  “I don’t know. But I know the police chief was there at the greenhouse talking to him not half an hour ago, because Elsie Shultz saw him with her own eyes.”

  Cathy’s stomach clenched. Not more trouble, dear Lord. Think of that child.

  Mamm shook her head reprovingly. “You shouldn’t repeat gossip, Mary.”

  “It’s not gossip if it’s true,” Mary retorted. “I don’t want to believe any of the things they’re saying about Michael. I’m certain sure the boy I knew couldn’t do them. But how do any of us know what ten years in the Englisch world might have done to him?”

  “It is not our place to judge.” Mamm’s voice was firm.

  “I’m not judging,” Mary protested. “I just wish our Cathy didn’t have the child in her school.”

  For a moment all Cathy could do was stare at her sister. “Why? Allie is just an innocent child. Eight years old, with her mother gone and all of the turmoil in her life—if I can make her happy and accepted there, that’s my duty as a teacher.”

  Mary was already shaking her head. “Ach, Cathy, I feel for the child, but just think. We already know that the Stoltzfus family wants to see their Mary Alice teaching at Creekside School. If there’s any hint of trouble about having Michael’s daughter in your school, they’d certain sure make a fuss. You only have a year’s contract, and—”

  “I know that.” Cathy interrupted her sharply. She couldn’t say it hadn’t crossed her mind as well. “But I’m paid to teach the children of this church district, and as long as Allie is living with Verna Forster, that includes her.” Her glare dared Mary to say anything more.

  Her sister’s face softened, and she touched Cathy’s hand lightly. “Don’t be angry. I understand. I just don’t want to see you get caught in the middle of Michael’s troubles.”

  When Mary spoke that way, she became again the patient older sister who’d taught Cathy how to tie her shoes, instead of the sometimes sharp-tongued critic.

  “I know.” The momentary anger she’d felt seeped away. “I understand that you’re worried. I am, too. But I must do what’s right for me as a teacher. If I fail my duty to one child—well, it’s as bad as failing all of them.”

  She hadn’t articulated it to herself before, but now that she’d said it, she knew it was true. She would
do her duty to Michael’s child, no matter what it cost her.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “THAT SHOULD BE RIGHT.” Lige lowered the end of the heavy wooden table he carried, so Michael put his down as well. “With Memorial Day coming up at the end of the month, lots of folks should be coming by for flowers.”

  Michael nodded. “Better have lots out, then.” The Amish didn’t generally put flowers on graves, but plenty of other people did.

  Diana was buried in the Englisch cemetery in her family’s plot—her brother had insisted. Would her family be putting flowers on it? If so, they wouldn’t come here to buy them.

  He eyed Lige as they carried out flats of impatiens and marigolds. If Lige resented his presence or the fact that he’d begun working in the nursery, he didn’t show it. Still, he might be wondering how Michael’s presence affected his own position here. It seemed generally understood that the nursery would eventually go to Sarah and Lige, and he had no intention of interfering.

  “I was wondering...” Lige began and then paused, his usually stolid face troubled.

  “What?” Maybe Lige was going to save him the trouble of bringing it up by doing so himself.

  “I saw that Chief Jamison was here yesterday. Did you tell him about the damage to your car?”

  For an instant he was startled. He’d forgotten that in the rush of other events. “No, I didn’t bother. It cleaned right off, so what was the use?”

  Even as he dismissed the incident, he knew he couldn’t leave it at that. Lige had a right to know anything that might affect the family.

  He frowned down at a flat of pansies. “He said... Well, he said the police in Harrisburg had been in touch with him. Making sure I’m really here, I guess.” He grimaced. “He was nice about it. Even bought some geraniums.”

  Lige nodded. “He’s a gut man. Not one to stir up trouble where it’s not needed.”