by Marta Perry
What could she say? She could hardly tell him that she’d come home because she had no place else to go—and that she was only staying as long as she had to. Little though she wanted to deceive anyone, she had no choice. Gracie’s future depended on it.
Samuel looped the lead rope through the ring in the upright and went to get the harness. The deliberate movements gave him a few moments to consider. Was he doing as Joseph would want?
Well, Joseph might not be happy to have a car stowed in his barn, but he would be wonderful glad to see his little sister home again. Samuel knew him well enough to be sure of that.
He lifted the harness from its rack and carried it to where the mare stood patiently waiting. Anna was not quite so patient, moving back and forth like a nervous animal pacing in its stall.
“I’ll harness her up and use a chain to attach her to the car. That should be plenty gut enough to move it, long as we’re not going uphill.”
She caught the harness strap on the other side of the mare as Samuel tossed it over, pulling it into place. “Where should we take the car, do you think? The barn or the shop?”
He considered. “Joseph might not want it in the shop, where people are in and out every day. Let’s put it in the back of the barn for now.”
If she was home to stay, she’d be getting rid of the car first thing, he supposed, so what difference did it make? When he’d first spotted the car, and then seen the woman going into the barn, he’d thought it was someone looking for the English couple who lived down the road. Anna Beiler had never entered his mind.
Anna ran her hand down the mare’s shoulder, crooning to her, and then reached underneath to fasten a strap.
“Seems like you remember how to do this,” he said. “I thought you might have forgotten, after living as an Englischer so long.”
“It’s coming back to me.” Her voice was dry and clipped, all her softness saved for the animal.
Anna had changed, no doubt about that. Those jeans and shirt didn’t leave a lot to the imagination. She’d always been slim, but now she was almost skinny.
The blond hair he’d always seen braided neatly back under her prayer covering was now pulled into an untidy knot at the back of her neck. Her slim shoulders were stiff, as if she couldn’t let herself relax.
The strain showed in her face, too, in small lines around her blue eyes and in the tight way she held her mouth. He remembered a rosy face always alive with feeling—either passionately happy or sad or angry. Anna had never done anything by halves. She’d always felt everything more intensely, it had seemed, than anyone else.
Now—well, she looked as if the outside world had knocked all that youthful spirit out of her. The English world could do that. His own experience had taught him well.
He veered away from that thought. What had happened to him outside had nothing to do with Anna.
“What took Joseph and Myra to Fostertown?” She asked the question as if tired of the silence rather than from any need to know. Or maybe she was trying to ease her own tension with talk.
“Myra’s expecting again. I suppose you know that.” He raised an eyebrow in her direction, not sure how closely in touch she’d stayed with the family.
“No.” A faint flush stained her cheeks. “I didn’t know.”
“The doctor wanted her to have some special blood tests done at the clinic over in Fostertown, so naturally Joseph wanted to go with her. Your sister Leah is watching little Sarah.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Myra or the baby, is there?”
“Nothing I know about.”
He’d seen the worry on Joseph’s face lately when he looked at his wife, but if there was a problem, it would be Joseph’s decision whether to tell his sister or not.
“How is Leah? And her family?” Anna put the question carefully, not meeting his eyes.
“They’re well, as far as I know.” He hesitated. How much had Anna been in contact during these past three years? “Your mamm . . .”
She stiffened. “I know about my mother’s death.”
“I wasn’t sure.” He picked up the chain and slung it over his shoulder.
“Because I didn’t come back for the funeral?” She shot the question at him, hands on her hips.
Defensive, that’s what she was.
“It’s not my business,” he said quietly, and began to lead the mare out of the barn, leaving her to follow.
Anna caught up with him in a few steps. “I’m sorry.” She bit off the words.
He shrugged, a little uncomfortable. “It makes no matter. I’m sorry for your loss.”
They headed for the car parked in the lane by the kitchen door. “I’m sure Joseph wouldn’t mind if you left the car where it is for a bit,” he ventured.
“I can’t. I don’t want to.”
Which is it, Anna? Can’t or don’t want to?
He wouldn’t ask the question, because it wasn’t his business and she wouldn’t tell him, but he did wonder. Something was going on here besides the obvious fact of Anna’s return.
“What about you?” Anna glanced at him, maybe wanting to change the subject. “You fence-jumped before I left. When did you come back?”
“I wasn’t gone long. Less than a year.”
He had a feeling she wouldn’t press him on it, not that he couldn’t have evaded questions if he’d had to. He’d had plenty of practice.
But Anna wasn’t really interested in him—not in what had taken him away or in what had driven him back. She was preoccupied with her own worries, only talking to fill the silence.
“You work with Joseph, you said?” She made it a question.
“Ja, he took me on as partner two years ago. That’s my place over there.” He jerked his head toward the neighboring house, surrounded by fenced pastures for his horses.
She followed the direction of his nod, staring at the two-story frame house. “That place was owned by an English couple, I thought.”
“They sold up and moved south, to get away from the winters, they said. I’m still taking out the electric and such.”
It was a big job, but he could take his time about doing it. He had only himself to please. He could do it as he wanted.
Anna shot another glance at him, maybe wondering why he was clean-shaven like a boy. “You’re not married?”
“No.” It was his turn to be short. He’d had practice evading that question, too, and it surely wasn’t Anna’s business.
They’d reached the car, and he spoke soothingly to the mare as he backed her up. Betsy was inclined to be a little skittish about anything strange, but he could talk her into doing this.
“Wait a second.”
He stopped the horse where she was. Anna darted to the back door of the car and ducked inside. He heard the soft murmur of her voice.
And then she was out again, holding a baby in her arms.
He took his time absorbing that. Anna wouldn’t be surprised that he didn’t immediately respond. After all, she’d always thought him tediously slow, maybe even stupid, as he recalled.
So, Anna had come back with a child. The little girl looked to be about a year old, with rosy cheeks that hinted she’d just woken up.
Anna had no husband, it seemed. Her ring finger was bare.
Ach, this would set folks talking, for sure, the news flying around the valley faster than fast. As to how her family would take it—well, that he couldn’t guess.
“This is my daughter. Her name is Grace. Gracie.” Her chin lifted as she spoke, and he saw in her blue eyes a spark of the defiance that the old Anna had had in such abundance.
The child had blue eyes, too, round and wondering as he approached and held out his hand to her. Her hair was silky and as white-blond as corn silk. She considered him for a long moment, her face solemn, and then grabbed at his fingers and giggled.
He broke into a smile. “You’re a fine little girl, you are, Gracie.” He glanced at Anna and found her looking at the child, her face a
light with a fierce, possessive love. “You look a bit like your mammi.”
Anna’s eyes met his then, wide and unguarded just for a moment. That look, with all her defenses down, went straight to his heart and stuck there like an axe biting into wood.
“Denke,” she said softly. “Thank you. Just let me find a safe place to put her, and I’ll help you move the car. Gracie crawls like greased lightning.”
“Ach, you don’t need to be helping me. I’ll take care of it.” He jerked a nod toward the back door of the house. “The key is on top of the door frame. Go on inside with the boppli.”
She looked as if she’d like to argue the point. Probably didn’t want to be beholden to him if she could help it. But instead she nodded, took a bag from the car, and headed for the house.
He watched as she disappeared inside. Then he turned to the horse, patting her absently, his mind struggling to absorb everything that had just happened. Little Anna was back, and she had a boppli.
Small wonder she wore that look of strain. Her situation was difficult for sure. As for her future—that was beyond his imagination.
Relief swept over Anna when she closed the door behind her. At least now she was safe from the chance of being seen, to say nothing of getting away from Samuel’s cool gaze.
Had he been judging her? She couldn’t be sure, but the idea made her seethe. She’d thought she’d wiped out her quick temper during the difficult years away. Maybe she’d been wrong.
Or maybe it was being back that had her reverting to the old, rebellious Anna. That wasn’t a pleasant thought. She’d need all the maturity she’d gained to negotiate the coming weeks, maybe months.
How long? How long until she felt it was safe to stop hiding?
Grace wiggled, fussing a little and reaching toward the floor.
“Down?” She took a quick glance around the kitchen, but of course Myra’s kitchen, including the floor, was spotless.
She put Gracie down, smiling as she crawled quickly to the table and, using its leg for support, pulled to her feet, wobbling there. Gracie seemed ready to take a step, but she wasn’t quite brave enough yet.
The smile faded quickly. In her bright pink romper and tiny sneakers, Gracie could not be mistaken for an Amish child, any more than anyone would think Anna Amish in her jeans. If she were to succeed in blending in here, that was the first thing that had to change.
“We’ll make it,” she promised, scooping Gracie up again and kissing the downy hair that curled around her ears. “We will. I promise. I love you, little girl.”
Gracie giggled at the kiss and squirmed to be set down again.
“In a minute you can crawl. Right now, let’s find something suitable to wear, for both of us.”
She walked through the hallway, memory coming back as she did so. Joseph and Myra had been fortunate to be able to buy this house when they first married, thanks to the success of Joseph’s machine shop. Her brother was clever with machines, adapting English technology to work in ways the Amish could accept. She felt a familiar impatience with the endless adjustments Amish people made to live in a modern world.
Upstairs, she found Joseph and Myra’s bedroom without difficulty but hesitated, not liking to touch Myra’s things without permission.
Still, if she knew her sweet, shy sister-in-law as well as she thought she did, Myra would be delighted to lend anything she owned. She’d also probably be vastly relieved to see Anna in traditional garb rather than English clothes.
Anna put Gracie down on the rag rug beside the bed and rummaged in the diaper bag for her favorite ball. “There you are. Be good while Mammi gets dressed.”
Quickly, before her qualms overcame her, she looked through Myra’s things. Luckily they were about the same size, so that shouldn’t be much of a problem.
She found a dress and apron combination in a deep forest green hanging from a hook.
“This will work,” she said to Gracie, who was picking at a dark red color in the rug with one tiny finger. “You’ll be surprised when you see how I look.”
She peeled off her jeans and T-shirt and pulled on a plain white slip. Next she slid the dress over her head. Funny, to feel it flutter around her legs. She frowned for a moment, trying to remember the knack of fastening the bodice with the seven straight pins, but it came back to her almost at once.
Now the apron, and the black stockings. Her sneakers would be acceptable, so she wouldn’t have to raid Myra’s shoes.
She stood for a moment when she’d finished, rubbing her palms on the skirt of the dress, until she realized that her hair was still pulled back in an elastic.
Again, her fingers seemed to remember what to do as she twisted her hair into a bun. She had cut her hair first thing when she’d decided to leave, as a gesture of independence, but she’d soon found it hard to deal with and let it grow again. It wasn’t as long as most Amish women’s, but the bun and kapp would hide that. She settled one of Myra’s white prayer kapps into place.
Prayer. She’d done a great deal of that in the past year, struggling to find her way, struggling to hear God’s comfort and guidance.
But often her frantic pleadings seemed to fall on deaf ears. Maybe she’d neglected God for so long that He had forgotten her.
She looked at Gracie. No, she hadn’t been forgotten, or she wouldn’t have this beautiful, precious child.
Denke, she whispered silently. Thank You.
It took her a few more minutes to find something of her little niece’s that Gracie could wear, but finally she was satisfied. They would pass for any Amish mother and daughter. She could probably walk right past someone who’d known her in Chicago. Most of them would only turn to stare at the clothing, not noticing the woman who wore it.
That was the idea, she reminded herself, carrying Gracie back down to the kitchen. Dress humbly, modestly, so that you don’t stand out or draw attention to yourself. It was the community of believers that was important, not any single individual.
She’d rejected that when she left, but now she needed it, would rely on it.
Once in the kitchen she put Gracie in the wooden high chair next to the table. “Let’s find you something to eat. You must be hungry, ain’t so?”
She blinked, a little surprised at herself. Would it be that easy for her to go back to talking Amish, thinking Amish?
And being Amish? The voice of her conscience questioned. Are you ready for that? Or are you playing a part?
She pushed the thought away. Get something for Gracie to eat— The back door opened. Samuel stood there, filling the doorway, his mouth agape. This must be the first time she’d actually disturbed that stolid countenance of his.
“Do I look Amish again?” Sure of herself on this, at least, she watched him.
He lifted those level eyebrows that gave him such a serious expression. “You forgot something.”
“What?”
He pulled a paper towel from the rack and handed it to her. “Amish women don’t wear stuff on their lips.”
The lack of mirrors had done her in. She’d forgotten the lipstick. Quickly she scrubbed her lips with the towel until it no longer came away with the slightest tinge of color.
“Better?”
“Ja. You don’t need that stuff anyway.”
“That might almost be a compliment, Samuel. If it weren’t for your disapproving frown.” She let her irritation show in her voice. “I should think you’d be a little more understanding than most people.”
Her tart words didn’t make a dent in his composure.
“Ja, I was a fence-jumper, too.” The words seemed heavy, as if laden with something. Guilt, maybe? “That’s how I know it’s not easy to come back. Do you think you can be again the girl you were?”
“I don’t want to be.” The words came out quickly, before she had a chance to think that she didn’t want to have this conversation with him. She shrugged. “I’m three years older. Maybe a little wiser, I hope.”
“And you
’re certain-sure you’re ready to be Amish again?”
The question pricked at her, sending her tension soaring. Did he see through her so easily? No, he couldn’t possibly know why she’d returned. No one could.
She squared her shoulders, facing him. “My readiness will be a question for my family to answer.” Not you.
“True enough.” He glanced out the door at the sound of buggy wheels. “I suppose you’ll know that soon. Here they are.”
CHAPTER TWO
Myra passed another plate for Anna to dry. She gave her a shy smile, as if still getting used to having this unexpected guest in her house.
“You didn’t have to help. I’m used to doing the supper dishes by myself, I am.”
“I’m glad to do it.” Besides, it might keep her from thinking too much.
Myra glanced across the kitchen to where almost-three-year-old Sarah played on the floor with her new little cousin, as if checking to be sure they were all right. So far, at least, the girls seemed happy to share the blocks, but who knew how long that would last?
Myra turned back to the sink, plunging her hands into the sudsy water. “It’s wonderful gut to have someone to talk to over the dishes. To tell the truth, I missed this time with my sister once I was married.” She flushed a little. “Not that I’d want Joseph to think I had any regrets. But we used to have the best talks while we were doing the dishes. I’ll bet you and Leah did, too.”
“Ja, that we did.”
At the thought of her older sister, Anna’s throat muscles contracted. Even with the ten years’ difference in their ages, she and Leah had always been close. When she left, Leah had been the only one who seemed to understand.
She’d promised Leah that she’d stay in touch. She hadn’t kept that promise. She hadn’t been here for Leah’s wedding or the birth of her little girl or when Mamm had died. Could Leah forgive that?
She cleared her throat, trying to evade those thoughts. Things she’d been able to banish to the back of her mind when she was far away were loud and insistent here, demanding answers.
“I want to thank you again for the use of the clothes.” She brushed at a tiny soap bubble that had landed on her sleeve. “It’s kind of you.”
