She came up with nothing. Her dreams that night shuffled documents and television crime show scenes together. She woke exhausted. But she had to pick up Ruth at six so they could be back to their lives in Colorado Springs before nine. At a staff meeting at ten, Annie would explain to her team what had been going on with the recent series of covert meetings.
Craving coffee, Annie pulled into the Beiler driveway. Rufus sat in a chair on the covered front porch. She had planned to simply wait for Ruth in the car without disturbing the rest of the family, but because Rufus was outside, Annie got out of the car and approached the steps.
“I didn’t expect to see you out here so early.” She leaned on the railing at the bottom of the steps.
“Gut mariye to you also,” he said.
“Sorry. Good morning. But why aren’t you still in bed, resting?” She moved up toward the porch.
“I have rested for two weeks. I want to work today.”
“Aren’t you pushing it?” Annie sat in a chair next to him and felt the warmth coming off his skin. She resisted the urge to put a hand to his forehead to see if the warmth was feverish. Outside, in the fresh air, he smelled more like himself instead of an arsenal of medicine.
“Work is a gift from God,” Rufus said. “I simply want to receive His gift.”
Annie decided not to argue the point. “I found something last night. I think it proves Karl Kramer was in that house. I just need to find a sample of his signature to compare and be sure.” She told him about the scrap of paper.
Rufus turned slowly to look at Annie full on. “You went to that house?”
She met his violet-blue gaze and willed her thudding heart to slow. “The police aren’t getting anywhere. I thought maybe some fresh eyes would see something they missed.”
“You were foolish. You could have been hurt.”
“I was investigating.”
“You were trespassing.”
“I didn’t hurt anything.”
“Didn’t you?” His eyes turned back to the mountains.
“No. Besides, I wasn’t the only one there. I’ve never met Karl Kramer, so I can’t be sure, but I would bet my company that he was the man I saw in that house. Talk about trespassing. It’s not his building project. The fact that he came back suggests he’s up to no good.”
“That logic is not exactly flawless.”
“You know what I mean.” Annie was not giving up easily. “What was he doing creeping around a house he is not even building?”
“I suppose you think he was looking for the paper you found.”
“Could be. Most of it is still under the carpet pad.”
“It’s not your business, Annalise.”
She reached across the chairs and put a hand on his forearm. The muscles under her fingers tensed. “I care about what happens to you, Rufus. The sooner the police nail Karl Kramer, the sooner you can get your peaceful life back—without all these complications.”
“I do want a peaceful life,” Rufus said, “but you confound me more than anything else.”
He withdrew his arm from her touch. His words silenced her, and a flush rose in her cheeks against her best effort to subdue it. Why was it so hard for him to see that she was trying to help?
“You must let it go, Annalise.” Rufus sighed and leaned forward in his chair. “You can’t control everything. You have to stop trying to win. You certainly do not have to win anything for me. That is a way of life from your world, not mine.”
“I just want justice. God likes justice, doesn’t He?”
“God is justice,” Rufus said. “You don’t understand that. You have been in our home. You have been in our church, among our people. You have even used your technology to study us. Still you do not understand. Just when I think you begin to grasp our ways, you take things into your own hands again.”
“I’m just trying to help.”
“I don’t expect you to be Amish, Annalise, but I do hope you can respect our ways.”
“I do.”
He shook his head. “Our life is grounded in submission, and yours seeks control. You can’t have both.”
Glassenheit. Ruth had used that word. Annie Friesen had never been very good at submission.
The front door opened, and Ruth emerged. Annie stood up.
“I hope you feel better soon. I’ve got some things to go control.” Annie’s dry tone sounded hollow even to her.
Rufus looked up at Ruth. “Did you say good-bye to Mamm?” he said, still speaking English.
She shook her head, and Annie realized how pale Ruth looked.
“She’s staying in bed late. I don’t think she wants to talk to me.”
“Neither of you is willing to talk about the one thing that matters. You started something when you left,” Rufus said, “and you are picking at a sore when you visit.”
“I came back for you,” Ruth said. “You could have died.”
“And I thank you. But you came back again.”
“To see how you are healing.”
“You are training to be a healer. You will have to heal this thing between you and Mamm.” Rufus leaned back and closed his eyes. The conversation was over.
Annie and Ruth got in the car and buckled their seat belts.
“Does Rufus always do this?” Annie asked.
“Do what?”
“Dump a pithy impossible challenge on people instead of just saying good-bye.”
“He’s hardest on people he cares about most.”
Annie waited in the upscale downtown bistro for her mother. Once a month they met here for lunch. Generally they both pretended to review the menu, hunting for something new to try, and then both ordered the corned beef on rye they loved. It came with coleslaw they dissected, trying to discover the secret ingredient that made them want to buy a container to go—which they invariably did. In the fairer months, they ate outside at a small sidewalk table sequestered from passing pedestrian traffic by a iron fence. Annie had chosen a table in the shade.
When Myra arrived this time, Annie set her menu aside. “Let’s just get the corned beef.”
“Seems like the efficient thing to do.” Myra had been shopping. She kissed Annie’s forehead, and then she set a boutique bag on the sidewalk under the table. “Summer sweaters are 40 percent off.”
Annie smiled. Myra loved to shop, but even more, she salivated over bargains. Annie’s closet was full of bargains Myra had picked up over the years. Most of them Annie never wore.
The food came quickly. Annie suspected the waitress, who served them every month, had put the order in to the kitchen before her mother arrived. She made a mental note to leave a huge tip.
“So you’ve been to the Amish place again.” Myra corralled meat between bread slices.
“It’s not the ‘Amish place,’ Mom. It’s a quaint, historic small town with a few Amish families in the area.”
“When do I get to see the house you bought?”
Annie swallowed a bite. “Let me get it fixed up first.”
“I can’t imagine what the kitchen must be like in a house that old.”
Annie shrugged. “I don’t do much in the kitchen anyway.”
“I should have taught you better.”
“You taught plenty, Mom. Penny learned, after all. She has food on the brain. I just thought other things were important.”
“It’s not too late to learn to cook.”
“I suppose not.”
“I could sew curtains for your new windows.”
“I might take you up on that one,” Annie said, “but you have to teach me. Did you know the Amish women make all the clothes for the family?”
“That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?” Myra sucked coleslaw off her fork, her eyes rolling in pleasure.
“I don’t know. Maybe. But there’s something appealing about the way the Beilers live—well, all the Amish, I suppose.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I’m there, I
hear sounds I don’t hear in town. Instead of televisions and stereos, dishes clink around the table and milk makes that whoosh when it comes out of the cow. And I smell things I’ve always been in too much of a rush to notice. They have a reason for how they live. They hear the voice of God. They choose life instead of letting it happen to them.”
“We all choose our lives,” Myra said. “You chose to go to college. You chose to start a business. You chose your condo.”
“Did I? The whole system is so competitive. Of course I started a business. That’s what winners do.”
“Annie, what are you talking about?” Myra put her fork down, laid her hands in her lap, and stared at her daughter.
“I wonder what it would be like, that’s all.”
“Living without television? Without electricity? Without that computer you use like an appendage?”
Annie spread coleslaw around her plate with a fork. “The trade-off might be worth it.”
“You need a vacation. Let’s go somewhere that has a beach.”
“Mom. A vacation is not the answer. I’ve had a lucrative offer for the business. I think I’m going to take it. I could sell the condo. This may be the time to rethink my life.” Annie shrugged. “And yes, the Amish may help me do that. They already have.”
“Didn’t you tell me that your friend Ruth left the Amish way after growing up in it?”
“She’s still trying to figure it out. She’s choosing something. Answering a call. It’s very spiritual for her, even if it does come at a price.”
“If you want to be more spiritual, maybe you should just go to church a little more often.” Myra resumed eating. “We always went when you were little. We all got out of the habit. But when your dad and I go now, people still ask after you.”
Annie nodded. “I might try that. But I might want more.”
Myra’s eyes narrowed. “You mean, like join the Amish?”
Annie pinched a piece of bread off the sandwich she had not eaten. “I don’t know if I would make a very good Amish woman, but I wonder about it. I’m at least going to get serious about faith again and find out where it takes me.” In her mind’s eye, she saw herself standing in the purple dress in the barn. Rufus’s scent filled her nostrils even now.
“Annalise Friesen, buying a weekend house near the mountains is one thing, but I’ve seen that look on your face before. You’re seriously considering joining the Amish.”
“I don’t even know if they would have me, but what if I did?”
“Think about your family, Annie. Everything would change.”
“Not everything.”
“This is about that man, isn’t it?” Myra said sharply. “He’s got your brain scrambled.”
“I admit Rufus—well, he’s not like any man I’ve ever known. But I wouldn’t do this just for him. I would do it for me. For my relationship with God to change.”
Myra pushed her chair back and stood up. “I’ve lost my appetite.” She tossed her napkin onto the table and picked up her shopping bag. “I believe it’s your turn to get the check.”
Annie’s mouth hung open as she watched her mother walk away without looking back. Great. Someone else fed up with me. Okay, God, what am I supposed to do with that?
Forty
October 1747
Elizabeth flung open the green shutters and breathed in the view of the Byler farm from the kitchen window. Fall air snapped through on the breeze.
After Jacobli was born in the cabin, Jakob drew up plans for a house. When John arrived the next year, and Christian started sleeping in the barn because the cabin was so crowded, Jakob began stacking stones and smearing mortar. By the time Sarah arrived a year after John, the home was nearly finished. Joseph and David, Elizabeth was glad to say, were born in the bedroom upstairs.
The home was simple and functional, but compared to the cabin, it was spacious beyond Elizabeth’s dreams. She enjoyed the roomy kitchen and the broad table large enough for the family to gather. Whether for meals, lessons, or conversation, the table was in constant use. The kitchen had a small hearth for cooking, but Elizabeth’s favorite wall was in the main room. In the evenings, Jakob tended the fire in the wide wall made of stone harvested from the fields during the clearing years and matching the outside of the house. The black oak mantel seemed to give him particular pleasure. A rank of upstairs bedrooms sheltered all the children with no more than two to a bed even when all ten of them lived at home. Now when Barbara’s husband traveled overnight, there was plenty of room for Barbara and her toddler and infant sons to stay a few days.
Barbara married Christian Yoder, and Anna was engaged to his brother. Anna was already staying at Barbara’s house most of the time because it was closer to the man she was engaged to—and whose family was planning her wedding.
Yoders. They arrived from Europe five years after Jakob. Already they were becoming a dominant family among the Amish settlers. The fact that their mother had been a distantly related Yoder made it easy for the Byler girls to gravitate toward Yoder sons.
Neither of the older girls even once wavered about remaining in the Amish faith. When an Amish bishop visited from another district, Barbara, Anna, and Christian were baptized. When he came again, Barbara married. The girls made their peace that Elizabeth would never join them and that their own father would be out of place in an Amish gathering. Christian, of course, held out hope that his father would return to the fold.
Elizabeth’s only regret was that Jakob felt out of place at his daughters’ weddings and chose not to attend. And someone else would host the celebrating families when Anna and Lisbetli married.
And Maria. What about Maria? At fifteen, she seemed in no hurry to join the Amish church, but Elizabeth did not want the teenager to make such a choice because of her.
At least there was Sarah. Perhaps by the time she was old enough to marry, there would be a proper church for her to marry in. Elizabeth did not even care if it were Lutheran or Presbyterian. Jakob would be there to see their daughter married.
Elizabeth smiled at what she saw from the window. Coming in from the vegetable garden, Lisbetli had Joseph by one hand and David by the other. Behind her, John and Sarah carried a basket of vegetables between them—most likely squash, Elizabeth thought. Not much was left in the garden at this point in the season. The cellar was well stocked for the winter.
“Mamm, I’m hungry!” David called out as soon as he spotted his mother in the window.
“You’re always hungry,” John responded.
It was true. At age four, David could keep up with Jakob or Christian at meals.
Elizabeth turned around and ran a rag over the table, wiping up the last evidence of lunch just before the children burst through the back door with their supper bounty. John and Sarah quickly disappeared into the other room, no doubt intending to be out of sight when Elizabeth vocalized the next chore.
“I thought Bar-bar would be here by now,” Lisbetli said. The little boys freed themselves of her hands and clambered on Elizabeth, who dropped into a chair for support against their weight.
“I’m sure she’ll come any minute.” Elizabeth snuggled her little boys.
“Where’s Maria?”
“Upstairs. She needed to put on a fresh apron.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind if I go?” Lisbetli asked. “The boys will be underfoot while you’re cooking if I’m not here.”
Elizabeth kissed both boys’ foreheads and nudged them off her lap. “Lisbetli, the question is whether you want to go to the quilting bee. You’re so helpful to me with the younger children, but you won’t be a child yourself much longer. What do you want to do?”
“I don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings.” Lisbetli moved her fingers nervously across the back of a chair her father had made.
“Lisbetli,” Elizabeth said softly. “You don’t have to worry that you’ll hurt my feelings if you decide to join the Amish church. Your father sacrificed something when he married me,
but you are free to make your own choice.”
“What if Maria decides to be baptized when the bishop comes for Anna’s wedding?” Lisbetli said. “If I don’t join the church, I’ll be the only one.”
The only one of her mother’s children not to stay true. Lisbetli did not have to speak aloud. Elizabeth knew—had always known—that the toddler she loved, now becoming a woman, would face the question.
“You are twelve years old, and today is only a quilting bee.” Elizabeth pulled herself to her feet and examined the bounty the children had carried in. “You only have to decide what you’d like to do today.”
“I do love to quilt,” Lisbetli admitted. “I’m good enough that they’ll let me do more than thread needles now. I’d like to make a baby quilt all on my own.”
“A baby quilt?”
“For Anna. She’s getting married in a few weeks. Maybe she’ll need the baby quilt next year.”
“That’s a lovely thought. I have some scraps I can give you.”
“Thank you.” Lisbetli hesitated. “They have to be …”
“I know. Plain. They’re left over from the dresses I used to make for you and Maria.” As she spoke, Elizabeth adjusted the skirt of her own blue, flowered calico dress. Six-year-old Sarah was the only daughter she could dress in the prints and patterns she enjoyed. “I’m sure Anna would love to wrap a baby in a quilt made by Aunt Lisbetli.”
“I’ve been thinking that maybe I should just be Lisbet now,” the girl said. “It sounds more grown-up.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I’ll try to remember.” She had to look harder and harder to glimpse the toddler who captured her heart.
“It’s okay if you forget sometimes.”
“Bar-bar’s here!” John’s enthusiasm rang from the other room.
Elizabeth heard the clatter of the buggy and went into the main room to look out the front door. Barbara wrapped the reins around a post and waved. A moment later she came through the door.
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