by Marta Perry
“So this is what the grown-ups do after the kinder are in bed,” Rachel teased.
“This is the reward for tired parents,” Grossdaadi said. “Sit now.”
Rachel wasn’t hungry after the big supper they’d had, but she’d have to eat something. This ritual wasn’t because anyone was hungry. Rather, it was a time to sit together, to talk and to share the day’s happenings.
Grossmammi seemed to read her thoughts. “You sit down here and eat some pie. It’s gut for you after the time you’ve had. You could stand to gain a few pounds.”
Rachel’s gaze met Sadie’s, and for an instant they shared a thought. Grossmammi never changed, and that was a good thing in a scary world. She always believed homemade food would cure any problem. And it was good to share a moment of communication with her cousin, as well, even if Sadie looked quickly away.
Timothy didn’t seem to notice any byplay. “Saying good-night to the buggy horses, were you?”
She nodded, taking the slat-back wooden chair she’d always had when she’d spent summers here. “That little gelding in the first stall was looking for his carrot in a hurry.”
“Ach, he’s spoiled, that one is. He knows Grossdaadi will give him his treat first.”
“Clever, that’s all,” Grossdaadi said. “He’s just a youngster—Timothy and I trained him to the buggy only two years ago.”
To Rachel’s relief, he didn’t mention anything about a visitor in the barn. It seemed that was between them, at least for now.
“What did you think of the pair of Percherons?” Timothy asked.
Sadie leaned across to touch his shoulder in a loving gesture. “You’re so fond of those draft horses I’m thinking I should be jealous,” she teased. “What do you say, Rachel?”
Fortunately she’d noticed the massive gray pair in the two largest stalls. It would be hard not to. “Very impressive. But I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Sadie.”
Her grandfather chuckled before taking a long sip of milky coffee. “You might not think so if you could hear him talking to them when he thinks no one is listening...”
His words were cut off by a sound from upstairs—a harsh, barking cough that made Sadie start from her chair.
“Croup,” Grossmammi said in a resigned way. “Is it Anna?”
“Yah.” Sadie was already halfway to the stairs.
“I’ll put the kettle on.” Her grandmother started to get up, but Rachel pressed her back down.
“I’ll do it.” She began filling the big kettle at the sink. “Anna takes after her mother that way, does she?”
Grossmammi nodded. “I’d forgot you’d been here once when Sadie started up.”
“Scared me half to death. I’d never heard anyone cough that way.”
“You came running to our bedroom looking like a little ghost.” Her grandmother pulled out a big earthenware bowl. “We’ll need a towel.”
Timothy got up. “I’ll bring it and check the others while I’m upstairs. We don’t want them all up.”
The calm, capable manner shown by the family didn’t surprise Rachel, but it did make her wonder why her mother had never reacted that way. With her, every small incident of life had been reason for a drama, and Rachel had always found herself in the position of advisor and comforter, as if she’d been the mother. And if she’d been sick or hurt, she’d felt guilty for causing her mother so much trouble.
By the time Sadie came down to the kitchen carrying Anna wrapped in a blanket, the bowl of steaming water was on the table and the towel ready.
“Let’s go in your little tent to make the coughing stop,” Sadie said, her tone gentle. “Then you’ll feel better.”
Anna showed a disposition to cry. “It’s scary.”
Rachel took the towel while Sadie soothed her daughter. “Hush, now. It will make you better.”
Anna seemed to doubt it.
“Will you show me how you do it, Anna?” Rachel held the towel out. “I’ll hold it, and you tell me when to put it over your head. I won’t do it until you say.”
Anna looked at her mother. Getting an approving smile, she nodded. She bent forward over the bowl to inhale the steam while Sadie held her braids back. “I guess now,” she murmured, coughing a little as she spoke.
Rachel draped the towel gently over the child’s head, smoothing it down around the edge of the bowl. Anna gave another cough or two before her breathing started to ease a bit.
Patting Anna’s back, Sadie smiled at her. “You remember,” she said softly.
“I’ve never been able to forget. If I ever have little ones, at least I’ll know what to do.”
Grossmammi was gesturing to the others to move their coffee and pie into the living room, and she turned the light down a bit before following them. Anna might settle down more easily without her, too, but Anna was holding Rachel’s hand, so she stayed, sitting quietly with her cousin.
Sadie didn’t speak for a time—she just sat and soothed Anna. When she did say something, it was a surprising question. “Do you think that will ever happen?”
“What?” Then she remembered what she’d said last. “Children? I don’t see it. Paul...” She let that trail off. The thought of never having children of her own was a separate little pain in her heart.
She was legally free, of course. But she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to trust herself in that way again. She’d watched her mother fail to find a good man time after time, and she’d never thought she’d fall into the same mistake. But she had. And if she and Paul had had a child, what would the current circumstances do to a vulnerable little one?
“Did he never want kinder?” Sadie couldn’t seem to comprehend that, of course. Amish couples married with the expectation of starting a family, and she could remember Sadie as young as nine or ten talking about what she would name her children.
“I don’t think so. He said he did, but...” She shook her head, giving up any idea of explaining Paul. “In the end, all he wanted was to be free. Gambling was all he thought about. He didn’t care that he was taking money we both had earned and just throwing it away. I tried to help him see what it was doing to him, but I failed. I still feel like a failure, but I don’t know what I could have done differently.”
Could she have made a difference? Would some other reaction or even some other woman have been able to wean Paul away from the gambling that had become an obsession with him? She’d never know. The experts would say that the change had to come from within the addict, not from the outside, but she hadn’t found much comfort in that.
Sadie put her hand over Rachel’s where it lay, clasping Anna’s slack one. “I’m so sorry.”
She nodded. “Denke.” Her own breathing seemed to be slowing, matching that of the child. She’d just said things to Sadie that she had been reluctant to say to anyone else. The atmosphere of this place seemed to take all of her protective barriers down.
Anna moved, leaning back against her mother. Her breathing was even and easy, her eyes closed. Sadie slid the now-damp towel away but held it, ready to use again if necessary.
“Do you think she’s over it?” Rachel kept her voice low.
“I hope so. I’d best keep her here for a bit longer, in case it starts up again.” She glanced at Rachel. “She wouldn’t notice if you slipped away. You don’t have to stay.”
“I’ll sit with you.”
Sadie’s lips tilted slightly. “Best cousin friend.”
Rachel smiled in response. It was what Sadie had once called their relationship. She was relieved to feel it coming back strong again.
“About what I said before...” Sadie’s fingers tightened on hers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about coming. You belong here. Always.”
She had to blink back a quick tear. If she could mend things with Sadie, maybe th
ings were looking up.
The cell phone picked that moment to vibrate against her leg. It was a harsh reminder. Nothing was really resolved. She couldn’t fool herself into thinking anything else.
She slipped her hand away from theirs. “I...need to go upstairs for a moment. I’ll come back.”
Sadie nodded, but she looked at her rather oddly as she scurried from the room. The cell phone vibrated again when she was on the stairs, and then it stopped. A message from someone. Paul? Clint?
Racing into the bathroom, she pulled the cell phone free of its strap and fumbled with it.
The text was from Paul. She read it twice, and still didn’t know what to make of it.
Tried to call, but you didn’t answer. I had to change phones again, so haven’t heard from you. Remember that day in June? We never thought we’d end up like this. Sorry. Stay safe.
Rachel tried to rub away the headache that stabbed her at his words. What did he mean? More important, why didn’t he come forward and resolve this mess if he felt that way about it?
Questions, but no answers. She’d have to show this to Clint. She’d given her word. Her throat tightened at the thought.
She didn’t have to do it now, not this late and with a sick child in the house. She’d already texted him the message from her grandfather, and he’d said he’d come to the farm the following day.
Turning off the phone, she longed to cut out all intrusions from the outside world as easily. But today’s worries were enough for today. She’d deal with this tomorrow.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CLINT DROVE UP the long lane to the farmhouse in midmorning, hoping this was a good time to come. Farmers got up early, especially on a dairy farm like this one. He’d spent the night in the nearby town of Echo Falls...the kind of place that might have appeared on a calendar of typical American small towns. Tree-lined main street, brick courthouse, a clock tower chiming the hour—it might have been the town in Ohio where he’d grown up. If small towns were dying, as some people suggested, the good folks of Echo Falls weren’t recognizing it.
He’d breakfasted at a coffee shop run by a cheerful Amish woman who’d brought him what looked like a home-cooked breakfast and lingered at the table to talk. He was a visitor, yah? He was a little early for the peak of fall color, but he’d find some pretty walks if he liked to hike.
A query about the town’s name brought forth a spate of information about the falls, which proved to be on the ridge above the town. She was enthusiastic enough to walk out with him when he’d finished to point out the silvery line plunging down the ridge. Clint managed to show interest while at the same time parrying her obvious determination to find out what he was doing in Echo Falls.
If he’d been able to relax, he might have enjoyed the drive to the farm. The trees on the ridges were already showing color, and the fields lay golden in the sunlight. This place might have been any of the farms he’d passed on the way, the white farmhouse and red outbuildings forming a loose rectangle with pastures and cornfields surrounding them.
He really needed to talk to Rachel, but he suspected he’d have to be polite to her people first. Well, he could do that, even if he wasn’t as good at chatting people up as his partner was.
As Clint pulled to a stop at a wider part of the lane, he realized that a small knot of people was clustered in the nearest field, almost looking like mourners gathering around a grave. But no, the object in the middle was a large—make that very large—tree stump.
As soon as he got out of the car, one of the figures turned and gestured to him. Rachel wore a green dress today. It would probably bring out the deep sea green of her eyes, and her hair glinted golden in the sunlight. The woman who stood next to her was similar enough to be a cousin. They each held a small child by the hand, as if restraining them.
Assuming the gesture was an invitation, Clint started across the field toward them. If the two men were planning to get that massive stump out, what they needed was a front-end loader.
Rachel turned to meet him as he approached. “Good morning. I didn’t expect you quite so soon.”
“It seemed best to get an early start.” His voice sounded stilted to his own ears, but it was hard to sound normal when he was aware of all those listening ears.
Including those of the small boy who clung to Rachel’s hand. He looked about the age of her kindergartners, with hair so pale a yellow that it was almost white and round blue eyes. He didn’t expect any of her students would be wearing black pants and suspenders, though.
He smiled at the boy. “Who’s this?”
The child hid his face in the folds of Rachel’s skirt, but one blue eye peeped out at him.
Rachel patted him. “This is my cousin’s boy, Daniel. And that is Sadie with young Thomas.”
He nodded politely at the cousin, whose level gaze seemed to measure him with what he suspected was disapproval. Thomas was a slightly smaller version of Daniel.
“Here is my grandfather, Josiah Byler, and Sadie’s husband, Timothy Esch. Everyone, this is Clint Mordan.”
Timothy was holding a large shovel, but he didn’t look threatening. He had a tanned, open face and a light brown beard, fairly short.
The grandfather was another story. His long beard was nearly all white, and his lean face was laced with wrinkles. The faded blue eyes were still sharp, and he had a quality of dignity and assurance that compelled respect.
Clint realized he should have asked Rachel how to address an Amish bishop. It wouldn’t do to cause offense right off the bat. He nodded to the younger man and after a moment of hesitation held out his hand to the older one.
“Sir. Thank you for letting me come.”
The man’s hard hand clasped his. “My granddaughter says you can be trusted. So you are wilkom.” His English was good, but with a slight guttural intonation.
So Rachel had said he was trustworthy, had she? He glanced at her, noting that her cheeks were a bit pinker than usual.
“Clint is not a name I’ve heard often,” the old man said.
“It’s short for Clinton. I was named after my uncle, my father’s brother.”
Byler nodded. “We often use family names, as well. What does your uncle do?”
Apparently he was in for a third degree before he’d be approved, despite the words of welcome.
“He’s a police officer in Cincinnati. My father is also in the police, but in a small town outside the city. I don’t know if you know the area...”
He let that taper off when Rachel’s grandfather nodded.
“There is an Amish community in that area. We have been there for weddings and other family events.” His gaze sharpened a little. “But Rachel says that you are not in the police.”
“No, sir.” He was beginning to feel like a kid called to the principal’s office. “I was, but after an injury on the job I had to take another position. Rachel will have told you what my interest is in the situation.”
Another short nod, and the man turned toward the tree trunk, saying something to Timothy in dialect. The inquisition was over. Clint hoped he’d said the right things.
“That’s a pretty big stump,” he said, not wanting to walk away, especially when Rachel was making no move to ease the situation. “Can I give you a hand?”
The two men seemed to consult wordlessly, and then Timothy grinned. “If you don’t mind getting dirty, we could use another pair of hands.” The younger man’s English was easier and more colloquial.
“The stump is old and breaking down. It should komm easy.” The grandfather, after a measuring look, handed him an ax. “Timothy is clearing soil away from the roots. Then the big ones must be cut.”
He couldn’t resist the feeling that this was some sort of test. If so, he’d do his best to pass it. So he nodded, stepping into the trench Timothy was digging around the stump.
> “Got it.”
Timothy glanced at his shoes. “You need boots for muddy work.”
“It’s not that wet. I’ll be fine.” He smiled. “I’ve been dirty before. Let’s get at it.”
Needless to say, the job wasn’t quite so easy as the grandfather expected, but Clint found it satisfying to do something physical after days of talking to people. He liked the feel of the ax in his hands and the sound it made when it bit into the wood.
Soon he was barely aware of those watching. He and Timothy worked in tandem, making their way around the stump. It reminded him of working with his dad, doing his share to keep their acre lot looking the way his mother thought it should. Dad was a great believer in the value of hard work.
The ax went clear through the last of the thick roots. He gave the trunk a tentative nudge, using the ax head as a lever. It rocked gently in response.
Timothy nodded, smiling. “I think we have it. Want to give it a try?”
“Why not?” He set the ax out of the way, glancing at the two little boys, who were watching intently. He grinned. “Your boys are sure interested.”
“Yah. They want to be big enough to help.” He said something to the boys in dialect, and they giggled, jumping a little in their excitement.
“What did you tell them?”
“I said, ‘Watch while we get it out in three tries.’”
Clint nodded. “Guess we’d better do it, then.”
Timothy positioned himself next to Clint, and they planted their hands against the rough trunk. “Ready? On the count of three.”
They pushed, and the stump rocked reluctantly, roots pulling.
“Again,” Timothy said. This time they got a rending sound, and the roots began to tear from the soil. They looked at each other.
“One more, right?”
Timothy nodded. He said something to the others in dialect, and they all joined in the counting. On three Clint threw all his weight into it, shoving until he felt the muscles strain all the way to his feet. The stump rocked, groaned, protested and then toppled out of the earth, sending up a shower of roots and dirt and sending both of them sprawling.
