by Marta Perry
In the week since the open house, things had settled down to what might be her new normal. Several clients had come to engage her services, including Susie’s friend, Miriam Hostetler. Ruth’s quilters were back at work, including Emma, but she’d regretfully put the pieces of her mother’s quilt away again. Somehow she didn’t have the heart to ask anyone else to finish the quilt after what had happened.
She slid out of the car, grabbed her bag and headed for the center of activity. She could hear the auctioneer’s chant from here, and she pushed her way through the throng. It would be nice to see someone she knew, although the odds of that probably weren’t great. The auction had certainly attracted a mob of people—farmers mixed with smart, young well-dressed couples who’d probably come out from Suffolk for a Saturday of antiquing, together with a scattering of Mennonite and Amish.
Her stomach churned. She looked around, trying to see if any of her mother’s family was there. It had to happen sooner or later.
Not today, Lord. Please. I’m not ready.
How often had she said that? She knew, perfectly well, that she’d spent much of her life withdrawing from the chance of emotional hurt. She even knew why. The problem was finding the courage to change.
I know I said I’d be different when I came here, Father. I’ll try not to be a turtle, hiding in my shell. I will. I just don’t want to face them today.
And what about Ted? Did she want to face him? He’d stopped by the house twice during the week, casually—so casually, in fact, that she couldn’t decide whether the visits were a gesture of friendship or what he saw as his duty, checking up on the new resident.
She’d reached the edge of the crowd around the auctioneer, and she peered past bodies to get a look at what he was selling. Farm equipment, apparently. Maybe she’d have time to look over the furniture before he got that far.
She glanced across the crowd. The furniture seemed to be set out on the dry grass on the far side. She took a step in that direction and then stopped. That slim figure, surely, was Emma Brandt, bending over to inspect a marble-topped nightstand.
Without even thinking about it, she turned and walked in the opposite direction, ending up on the edge of the crowd. She faced a garden with pumpkins and winter squash that showed orange and green among the vines.
“Looking for a nice pie pumpkin?”
She knew it was Ted without looking. She turned, managing a smile. There was no point in letting him know she was such a coward.
“Miriam Hostetler told me about the celery in Amish gardens. I was just thinking there’s none planted here.”
He smiled, face relaxed. He wasn’t in uniform today, but his broad shoulders filled out the plaid shirt he wore with jeans and a denim jacket. “Old man Henderson wasn’t Amish, and he wasn’t marrying off any daughters this November, that’s for sure.”
“November?”
He nodded. “It’ll soon be here. November is the traditional month for Amish weddings, after the harvest is in and before the snow flies. Maybe Miriam told you that they don’t announce the wedding until a few weeks ahead, but if a man plants a lot of celery, it means he’s thinking of a wedding feast.”
“That’s what Miriam said.”
A silence fell between them, but it seemed a comfortable one. Maybe Ted had gotten past his worries about her presence here. It would be nice to think they could be friends.
Just friends, the cautious side of her added quickly. Just friends.
Suddenly the silence didn’t feel so comfortable. “Are you planning to bid on anything today?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Probably not, but I can never resist the lure of an auction. You never know what treasure you might find. How about you?”
“I thought I might pick up a piece of furniture or two for the house. I can’t bid on anything very big, or I won’t be able to haul it.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “The furniture is over on the other side of the tent.”
“I know. Unfortunately, so is my aunt Emma. Maybe my grandmother.”
She hadn’t been able to identify any of the other black-caped figures from this distance, their bonnets and capes making them as anonymous as she’d thought she’d be in this crowd.
“I see.” He glanced across the crowd, his height letting him see easily over the heads of most people. “It looks like most of the Stolzfus and Brandt families are here today.”
She tried, and failed, to read any emotion in his voice. “Do you think I should leave?”
She could see that he didn’t like being put on the spot with the question. She wasn’t sure how to read him—his expression didn’t change with the question. But she knew. Maybe his square jaw got a little squarer, or maybe she was developing way too much insight where Ted Rittenhouse was concerned.
“No,” he said finally. Reluctantly, she thought. “If you’re going to live here, they’ll have to come to some way of dealing with your presence.”
His concern, as always, was for them, not her, but at least he seemed to recognize that they needed to adjust, too.
“There’s no ‘if’ about it. I’m here to stay.”
He gave a short nod. “There’s your answer, then.”
And you regret it, don’t you? Maybe she’d better get away from him before she said something like that aloud to him, instead of in the privacy of her mind.
She pulled her corduroy jacket a little closer around her. “I’m going to find some hot coffee. Will you excuse me?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but started across the short, crisp grass to the food stand she’d spotted near the barn.
He didn’t follow her. Well, she hadn’t expected him to. He’d made it clear from the beginning whose side he was on in this standoff with her mother’s family. She needn’t imagine he’d change because of some vagrant bits of attraction between them.
By the time she reached the food stand, she’d managed to let go of whatever irritation she felt toward Ted and refocused her attention on what she hoped to buy today. A nightstand would be nice, and she could fit that in the back of the car. She tried to picture how it would look in her bedroom, next to the new bed.
The steaming hot chocolate smelled even better than coffee, and she took a large cup. One sip sent warmth surging through her, chasing away the late-October chill.
She’d just started back around the barn when she heard the sound of rushing feet behind her. Before she could turn they’d raced past her—three or four teenage boys, brushing so close they jostled the cup, splashing hot chocolate over her hand. Judging by the muffled laughter she heard as they disappeared around the barn, that was what they’d intended.
Annoyed, she fumbled in her bag for a tissue to mop the chocolate from her hand and wrist. A splash had hit the sleeve of her jacket, but it wasn’t bad. The boys had judged it nicely. They’d bumped her just enough to bother her, but not enough that she’d go seek out the law.
The odd thing was that, although three of the four had been typically clad in jeans and expensive sneakers, their jackets emblazoned with the emblem of the local high school, one, slighter and smaller, had been Amish. That was a strange combination, she would think.
Now she had a soggy tissue, but there was a large plastic trash bin at the corner of the barn. She dropped the tissue in. Well, no harm done. She rounded the corner, still feeling distracted after the odd encounter, barely looking where she was going, and stopped, face-to-face with her aunt Emma and her grandmother.
For an instant they froze, too, obviously just as shocked as she was. Then, with a quick movement, her grandmother turned her face away, the brim of the black bonnet effectively hiding her face. Emma did the same. And they walked off.
Fiona stood stock-still. The spray of hot chocolate had been nothing compared to this. She felt as if she’d just been doused with an entire bucketful of ice water. If she’d wondered how they’d react to seeing her, she certainly knew now.
Chapter Six
Fiona was stra
ightening the exam room after her last appointment of the day when she heard the bell jingle over the front door. Maybe a new client? She walked quickly through to the reception room. Standing uncertainly near the door was Rachel Stolzfus, and behind her was a young Amish boy.
For an instant Fiona felt as she had the previous Saturday at the auction—first icily frozen, and then scalded with hot embarrassment at the public snub. She forced her emotions under control. These were two kids, hardly responsible for what their elders had done.
“Rachel. How nice to see you.” She had to tread carefully. “But I suspect you shouldn’t be here.”
Rachel’s pink cheeks turned even pinker, but she shook her head, her bonnet ties fluttering. “No, it is all right, Cousin Fiona. Really.” She pulled the boy forward. “This is my little brother, Levi. He is almost thirteen.”
Levi looked like every other Amish boy she’d seen—blond hair in a bowl cut under his cap, round blue eyes that stared at her solemnly, rosy cheeks, and clothes that were a smaller replica of what his father would wear. He looked younger than the average twelve-year-old, but that was probably the inevitable difference in clothes and hairstyle.
“Hi, Levi. It’s good to meet you.” Fiona smiled at them.
He nodded, not speaking, and his gaze swept around the room, taking in the braided rug on the floor, the straight-backed, padded chairs, racks of mother-to-be magazines and the small television that played quietly in the corner.
Well, maybe it was better not to give him too much attention. Levi was obviously shy of his strange new cousin, and Rachel had probably dragged him along on this visit. Fiona turned back to the girl.
“Are you sure you should be here? I don’t want to get you into any trouble.”
But Rachel was already shaking her head again. “Aunt Emma brought us with her. She has some work to do at Ruth’s. She told us she would be busy for an hour, and we should find something to do. She knew we would come here.” Rachel beamed. “So, you see, it makes no trouble.”
In other words, Emma had given the kids tacit approval to do what she wouldn’t. Or couldn’t. Fiona wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but again, she couldn’t take that out on the kids.
She slipped out of her lab coat and hung it on the coatrack. “Come back to the kitchen. I think it’s about time for a snack.”
Levi glanced from the television to Rachel. She shook her head.
“Levi would like to stay here and watch the television, if that’s all right, while we have a sit-down talk.”
“That’s fine.” She didn’t suppose a half hour of daytime television could do him much harm, and the game show that was on seemed fairly innocuous.
She led the way back to the kitchen, taking a mental inventory of her snack provisions. Probably not much there that would appeal to them.
“How about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?” She glanced at Rachel. “I haven’t had a chance to get to the store lately.”
“Levi would love it.” Rachel took her bonnet off and patted her hair. “Maybe you and I would share one?”
“That sounds good.”
Fiona got the makings out quickly, slicing the loaf of brown bread that one of today’s clients had brought and getting out the peanut butter and a jar of strawberry preserves Miriam had given her. One thing about working here—she certainly wasn’t going to starve, with all the gifts of food that were being pressed on her.
Rachel took the plate with one sandwich from her hand. “I will take it to Levi.”
Wondering a bit, Fiona looked after the girl as she slipped out of the kitchen. It seemed fairly obvious that Rachel wanted a private talk. But about what?
Rachel was back quickly, sliding into the chair opposite Fiona at the round kitchen table. Her spotless apron and deep cherry-colored dress seemed to fit well with the simple aspect of the pine table.
“This is nice, Cousin Fiona.”
“Yes, it is.” And what is on your agenda, Rachel?
Rachel stared down at the sandwich, not eating it. “Cousin Fiona, will you tell me something?”
“If I can,” she replied, wary of promising anything she might not be able to deliver.
Rachel’s gaze met hers. “Will you tell me how your mother died?”
For a moment Fiona couldn’t speak. That was certainly the last question she’d expected from her young cousin. She swallowed hard.
“Doesn’t the family know that?”
Rachel shook her head. “Only that she is dead. That was all my grandfather ever heard about her after she left Crossroads.”
She blinked. “But he could have found out more. If he’d wanted to know.”
Bitterness twisted. He could have found out about me, that was what she really wanted to say.
“That is not the Amish way, you see. Accept what happens as God’s will. Don’t question. That is our belief.”
“But you do question, don’t you, Rachel?” She’d glimpsed a bright, inquiring mind in this young cousin.
Rachel shrugged. “I try not to. But I see our grandmother’s sorrow, and I wonder if it might have been eased if she’d known more.”
“Maybe you’re right.” She took a breath to release the tightness is her throat. “My father only ever told me that my mother died after I was born. When I was old enough, I found out more for myself.”
“You needed to know,” Rachel said.
She nodded, trying to frame the words. This was harder than she’d thought. “Apparently she never adjusted to being away from here. She was sad, crying a lot. After I was born, she developed an infection while she was still in the hospital. The doctor I spoke with said that she just seemed to give up. I guess she didn’t want to live.”
Even for me, the little voice in the back of her mind said. Even for me.
Rachel’s warm, strong fingers wrapped around hers. “I’m sorry. Sorry that you never knew her. That your father had all the care of you.”
She shook her head. “My father couldn’t take care of me. He put me in foster care.”
“Foster care.” Rachel frowned. “That is when a relative takes care of the children if the parents can’t.”
Maybe in Rachel’s world that was what happened. “We didn’t have any relatives in California. I was placed with strangers, not family.”
Judging from Rachel’s expression, that concept was beyond her understanding. Her blue eyes were wide, protesting.
“I was well taken care of,” she went on quickly. “After my father remarried, I went to live with him.”
“And then you were happy.” Rachel obviously wanted a happy ending to the story. “You have brothers and sisters, a real family of your own.”
The innocent words hurt, but she wouldn’t let Rachel see that. “One brother, two sisters. They’re quite a bit younger than I.”
Rachel nodded sagely. “I know what that is like. Levi, he wishes to follow me everywhere, as if it is time for his rumspringa, not mine.”
Fiona smiled, relieved the subject had moved away from her parents. “He probably envies you.”
“He must wait until he is older.” Rachel sounded severe. “He doesn’t yet have good judgment to make decisions.” Her smile sparkled suddenly. “Tell me about college. You went to college, yes?”
“Yes. I went to college to study nursing. And after that, to become a midwife. It was hard work, but fun, too.”
“You lived in a dormitory, with other girls, and went out on dates.” Rachel happily constructed the life she thought Fiona should have had. “And you have traveled?”
She opened her mouth to talk about her summer at a mission in South America and closed it again, remembering Ted’s misgivings about exposing Rachel to the outer world. It wasn’t her place to make Rachel long for a different life, even if it might seem natural to her.
Natural to her, yes. But would such a life really be any happier? She didn’t know the answer to that.
“A little,” she said evasively. “Mostly I
studied. And then I worked at a birthing clinic in San Francisco before I came here.”
Rachel nodded. “I understand. You became a midwife because of what happened to Hannah.”
“I—I don’t know.” She didn’t. She’d have said she barely thought of the mother she’d never known, but maybe the longing had been lurking in her heart all the time. “Tell me, is our grandmother all right?”
Rachel gazed down at the table. “I think she is. But I heard my father and mother talk of the time after Hannah left, when she lay on her bed and cried until my grandfather took her to the special doctor in Suffolk and she had to be in the hospital for a long time.”
Here was something she hadn’t imagined. So, her grandmother had had a depression severe enough to require hospitalization. Maybe their grandfather feared that Fiona’s appearance might cause a recurrence.
Rachel glanced at the clock over the stove and exclaimed something in German, jumping to her feet. “We are past our time. We must meet Aunt Emma.”
She whirled, enveloping Fiona in a quick, hard hug before rushing out to the other room and calling Levi’s name.
Fiona followed, but they were already out the door by the time she got there. She stared absently at the cartoon on the television and the empty plate on the coffee table.
Rachel had come looking for answers to satisfy her own curiosity about what must seem to her a family secret. She’d left Fiona with enough food for thought to last her a good long time.
Late-afternoon sunlight gave the main street of Crossroads a golden haze. In the distance, Ted could smell a faint whiff of burning leaves, a sure sign of autumn. Crossroads seemed to doze on weekday afternoons, but the weekend would bring its influx of tourists.
And its share of traffic issues. If he was lucky, the only problem would be a fender bender caused by some fool driver gawking at an Amish buggy instead of watching where he was going.
