by Marta Perry
“It was my pleasure, ma’am.” He would have tipped his hat, but he’d left it in the car. “I hope you’ll stop by and see me if you ever come to Crossroads again. I’d be glad to be of help to you.”
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Thank you for leading me back.” She hesitated a moment, and then she held out her hand.
Surprised, he took it. It felt small but strong in his. “Good night, Ms. Flanagan.”
“Good night.” She might have wanted to add “good riddance,” but either manners or common sense kept a slight smile on her face. She turned and walked toward the house, her back very straight.
Fiona crossed the guest bedroom at Gabe and Nolie’s farmhouse a few days later, charmed again by the curve of the sleigh bed and the colorful patchwork quilt. Maybe she’d have something like that in her new house. Her house, officially, as of ten o’clock this morning.
She had to admit she’d hesitated about buying the place in Crossroads after her experience there the other night. But the house was irresistible, and, in the clear light of day, she had to admit the police officer was just doing his duty.
Besides, the lure of the place overrode everything else. Home, it kept saying to her. Home.
Crossroads, she’d learned, was a fairly large area, encompassing several small villages on the outskirts of Suffolk, as well as farmland. Surely a township police officer like Ted Rittenhouse would be too busy with his other duties to bother about her. Or to annoy her.
She picked up her jacket and slipped it on. October had abruptly turned chilly, at least for the day. Still, anyone who’d grown up in San Francisco was used to changeable weather. That wouldn’t bother her.
She paused at the dresser, letting her fingers slip across the painted surface of the rectangular wooden box she’d brought with her across the country. It was all she had of the mother she’d never known. How much had that influenced her decision to come here? She wasn’t sure, and she didn’t like not being sure about something so important. When her advisor in the nurse-midwife program had mentioned that his part of Pennsylvania had a growing need for midwives, something had lit up inside her. Some instinct had said that here she’d find what she was looking for, even if she didn’t quite know what it was.
“That’s a replica of a dower chest,” Nolie spoke from the doorway. “It’s lovely. Did you buy it here?”
Fiona smiled at her hostess. With her fresh-scrubbed face, blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, jeans and flannel shirt, Nolie Flanagan looked more like a teenager than a busy wife and mother, as well as an accomplished trainer of service animals for the disabled.
“I brought it with me. It was my mother’s.” She hoped the shadow she felt when she said the words didn’t show in her voice. “I hate to show my ignorance, but what is a dower chest?”
Nolie came closer, tracing the stiff, painted tulips with their green leaves, fat little hearts and yellow stars in circles that decorated the box. “A traditional dower chest is much larger than this—like a cedar chest—for Pennsylvania Dutch girls to store the linens they make in preparation for their wedding. This smaller one was probably for a child to keep her treasures in.”
It hadn’t occurred to her that Nolie would be a source of information, but her Aunt Siobhan had said that Nolie’s family had lived on this farm for generations. “When you say Pennsylvania Dutch, do you mean Amish?”
Nolie leaned against the dresser, apparently willing to be distracted from whatever chores called her. “The Amish are Pennsylvania Dutch, but not all Pennsylvania Dutch are Amish.” She grinned. “Confusing, I know. And to add to the confusion, we aren’t really Dutch at all. We’re of German descent. William Penn welcomed the early German immigrants, including the Amish. They’ve held on to their identity better than most because of their religious beliefs.”
“It can’t be easy, trying to resist the pressures of the modern world.”
“No. There are always those who leave the community, like your mother.”
Fiona blinked. “I didn’t realize you knew about her.”
Distress showed in Nolie’s blue eyes. “I’m sorry—I didn’t pry, honestly. Siobhan mentioned it, when she told us you were coming.”
Her Aunt Siobhan and Uncle Joe knew about her mother, probably more than she did, of course. During the week she’d spent in their house she’d wondered if they’d talk about her mother, or about the reason her father hadn’t spoken to his brother in over twenty-five years. But they hadn’t, and Fiona was too accustomed to not rocking the boat to mention it herself. In any case, the breach between brothers meant they’d know little of what happened after her parents left.
“It’s all right. I don’t know much about her myself. She died shortly after I was born.”
“I’m sorry,” Nolie said again. “But your father must have spoken of her.”
“No.” She transferred her gaze to the chest, because that was easier than looking into Nolie’s candid eyes. “My father couldn’t take care of me—I was in foster care for years. By the time I went to live with him, he’d remarried.”
And he hadn’t particularly wanted reminders of that early mistake. She wouldn’t say that. She wasn’t looking for pity, and she’d already said more than she’d intended.
Nolie’s hand closed over hers, startling her, and she repressed the urge to pull away. “I know what that’s like. I was in foster care, too. And with a great-aunt who didn’t want me. It can be tough to get past that sometimes.”
Fiona’s throat tightened in response, but the habit of denial was too ingrained. She used the movement of picking up her handbag to draw away.
“It was a long time ago. I don’t think much about it now.” At least, she tried not to.
Nolie made some noncommittal sound that might have been doubt or agreement, but she didn’t push. “I suppose you’ll want to look up your mother’s family, too, now that you’re here.”
Fiona shook her head. She’d been over this and over it, and she was sure she’d made the right decision. “I don’t plan to do that. It’s not the same thing as coming to see the Flanagan family. Aunt Siobhan always tried to keep in touch, and I knew she’d be glad to see me.”
“But they probably—”
“No.” That sounded too curt. She’d have to explain, at least a little. “My mother’s family never made any effort to contact me. The one time my father spoke to me about it, he said they’d rejected my mother for marrying him. It’s hardly likely they’d want to see me.”
“You can’t be sure of that.” Nolie’s face was troubled. “I’d be glad to help you find them. Or maybe that police officer you met could help.”
“No. Thanks anyway.” She forced a smile. “I appreciate it, but I’ve made my decision. I don’t want to find them.”
Because they rejected your mother? The small voice in the back of her mind was persistent. Or because you’re afraid they might reject you?
“If that’s what you want—” Nolie began, but her words were interrupted by a wail from downstairs. “Uh-oh.” She smiled. “Sounds like trouble. That music video keeps her happy for a half hour, but then only Mommy will do. All my years of taking care of animals didn’t prepare me for the demands of one small human.”
“And you love it.” Fiona picked up her corduroy jacket and handbag. “Go ahead, take care of little Siobhan. I’m fine, really.”
Nolie nodded. “If you ever want to talk—”
“Thanks. I’m okay.”
The wails soared in pitch, and Nolie spun and trotted down the steps. “Mommy’s coming. It’s all right.”
Fiona followed more slowly. The maternal love in Nolie’s face was practically incandescent. Seeing that when it happened for the first time was one of the best rewards of being a midwife. Once her practice got on its feet, she’d have that opportunity again and again.
She was off to take possession of her new house, the first step toward her new life.
Lord, please bless this new begi
nning. Help me not to dwell on the difficulties of the past, but only on the promises of the future.
Chapter Two
When no one answered his knock at the old Landers house, Ted pulled open the screen door and stepped into the hallway, glancing around. Come to think of it, he’d have to start calling this the Flanagan place. Or Flanagan clinic, maybe. Rumor had it she was starting a midwife practice here.
Whatever she was doing, Ms. Flanagan really shouldn’t leave her door standing open that way. Then he noticed that the latch had come loose when he pulled on the screen door, probably one of hundreds of little things to be fixed.
“Ms. Flanagan?”
The two large rooms on either side of the central hallway were empty, except for a few odds and ends of furniture left by the last inhabitants. He could see what attracted the woman to the house—under the dust and neglect were beautiful hardwood floors, and the rooms were graciously proportioned, with bay windows looking out toward the street.
“Hello, is anyone here?”
A muffled call answered him from somewhere upstairs. Taking that for an invitation, he started up the staircase, running his hand along the curving banister. An oval stained-glass window on the landing sent a pattern of color onto the faded linoleum someone had been foolish enough to put over those beautiful stairs.
Sunlight poured through the tall window at one end of the center of the second floor landing. He paused, blinking at the sight of a rickety stepladder under what had to be the opening to the attic. A pair of sneakered feet balanced on the very top. Nothing else was visible of Fiona but a pair of trim legs in dust-streaked jeans.
The stepladder wobbled dangerously, and he grabbed it, steadying it with both hands. “What on earth are you doing up there? Trying to break a leg?”
As soon as the words were out, he realized that was more or less what he’d said that first night when he’d spotted her. Now, at least, she owned the house, but that was no excuse for endangering herself.
Fiona poked her head down from the dark rectangle of the attic opening, looking disheveled and annoyed. “What are you doing here?”
“At the moment, I’m keeping this ladder from collapsing under you.”
“It’s perfectly fine.” Her weight shifted, and the ladder swayed.
He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to let go?”
Her lips clamped together. “No.” She seemed to force the word out. Then, hands braced on the edge of the opening, she started lowering herself.
He caught her elbows and lifted her the rest of the way to the floor. The stepladder, relieved, collapsed in a heap on the dusty floorboards.
For a moment Fiona looked as if she’d like to kick the recalcitrant ladder, but then she managed a rueful smile. “Much as I hate to admit it, it looks as if you’re right.”
“I’ll find something sturdy to stand on and close that for you. No problem.”
“I’d say I don’t need help, but that would just convince you I’m totally irrational.” The smile warmed a bit, and her eyebrows lifted. “Did you come for something in particular?”
“Just being neighborly,” he said mildly. He glanced around, spotting a solid-looking chair in the nearest room, and hauled it over. Fiona wouldn’t be able to reach the ceiling from it, but he could.
He climbed onto the chair, reached up and eased the hatch back into place. It set off a puff of dust as it settled into its groove. He stepped back to the floor.
Fiona, apparently aware of how dirty she was, attempted to transfer the dust from her hands to her jeans, not looking at him. “Thank you.”
“Any time.”
That fierce independence of hers amused him, but it also made him wonder what was behind it. If she couldn’t accept a little nosy neighborliness, she’d never fit in here. He’d had to get used to that again when he came back.
She straightened. “I’m glad this isn’t an official call. As you can see, I’m rather busy just now.”
“Looking over your new purchase from top to bottom,” he agreed. The girls he’d grown up with had had plenty of spirit, giving as good as they got, but Fiona was different. Defensive, almost, and the cop part of his mind wondered what she had to be defensive about.
“It’s a beautiful house, really. It’s just been neglected.” Her smile flickered, and he thought her pride of ownership was getting the better of her wariness with him. “Once I have the renovations done, you won’t know it’s the same place.”
“What do you have in mind to do?” He was happy to keep her talking about the house, because it seemed to put her at ease. Since she was moving in, she was part of his responsibility, and he liked to stay on friendly terms with folks.
“My living quarters will be up here.” She gestured. “At first I thought I’d have to install a kitchen on this floor, but there’s actually a back staircase that leads down to the current kitchen, so I can just use that.”
“A remnant from the days when people had servants, I guess. What happens downstairs?”
“The old parlor will make a perfect waiting room.” She started down the steps, gesturing as she talked, and he followed. “The other rooms will have to be partitioned to make an exam room and an office, maybe space for classes. The birthing clinic where I worked in San Francisco ran a lot of childbirth classes, but I don’t know how much demand there will be here.”
He shrugged, coming down the last step to stand beside her in the hall. “You may be surprised. Plenty of women among the Plain People prefer home births and might enjoy the classes. You should be able to build a good practice, if you stay.”
“If?” Her eyebrows shot up at his words. “I’m not going to all this trouble with the intent of leaving. Why would you say that?”
He shrugged. “You wouldn’t wonder if you knew how this state has been losing medical personnel to other places. We’ve seen too much coming and going, mostly going, to take anything for granted. Folks just start to rely on someone and then find they’ve moved on to greener pastures.”
Especially city-bred people like you, he thought but didn’t say.
“I’m not going anywhere.” She stroked the intricate carving of the newel post. “This place is going to be my home.”
Her voice actually trembled with emotion on the last word, touching him, making him want to know what lay behind that emotion, but he didn’t figure he had the right.
He was here because it was his duty to protect and serve all the residents of his township, he reminded himself. Not because he had a personal interest in a woman like Fiona Flanagan, with her quick tongue and urban manners.
“Well, if that’s what you plan to do with the house, I guess you’re going to need someone to do the carpentry work, won’t you?”
She nodded. “Is there any chance you might be able to recommend someone?”
“There are a couple of possibilities among the Amish carpenters, it being fall and the harvest is in. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Amish,” she repeated, and he couldn’t tell what emotion tightened her face for an instant.
“They’re good carpenters, and this is an Amish community. I’d think you’d want an introduction to them.”
“Yes, of course, that would be perfect.” Whatever the emotion had been, it was gone. “Do you think they’d be able to start soon?”
She looked up at him with such appeal that for a moment he’d do most anything to keep that hope shining in her eyes.
“I’ll see if I can get hold of Mose Stetler. Maybe he can come over today or tomorrow.”
“Thank you so much.” All her wariness was washed away by enthusiasm. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He took a reluctant step toward the door. “I’ll see what I can do.”
And while he was at it, he’d best give himself a good talking to. Fiona’s blend of urban sophistication and innocent enthusiasm was a heady mixture, but he couldn’t afford to be intrigued by a woman like her. If he ever decided to risk himself on love
again, it would be with a nice, ordinary woman who understood the balancing act between two worlds that he maintained every day of his life.
By midafternoon, Fiona had finished cleaning the room intended for her bedroom and even hung some clothes in the closet. It wasn’t going to take much more than elbow grease and a little furniture to make her upstairs apartment livable. Now, if Ted came through on his promise to contact the carpenters, she could actually have an opening day in sight.
She’d already gone through the arduous process necessary to get her certification in order, and she’d contacted several obstetricians and the hospital in Suffolk, as well as a birthing center in the city that could use her services on a part-time basis until she got her practice on its feet. Now all that remained was to complete the office and find some clients.
Nolie, who knew the area well, had advised her to build word of mouth by meeting as many people as possible, and she might as well start on that today. After a shower and a change of clothes, she went outside, hesitating for a moment on the porch. She’d much rather be judged on her professional expertise than her personality, but if she planned to build her own practice, this had to be done.
Taking a deep breath and straightening her jacket, she headed for the general store. She’d already noticed how busy it was, and since it was right next door, it was a logical place to start.
The sign on the front door read Ruth Moser, Proprietor. Maybe Ruth would be the friendly type of neighbor who’d let her post her business card where people would see it. Another deep breath was necessary, and then she opened the door and stepped inside.
The store was bigger than she’d thought from the outside—extending back into almost cavernous depths where aisles were stocked with what she supposed were farming supplies, as well as hardware and tools she couldn’t begin to identify. The front part of the store carried groceries, and through an archway she glimpsed what must have been the tourist section—quilts, rag rugs, cloth dolls with blank faces—all the souvenirs a visitor to Pennsylvania Dutch country might want to take home.
