by Marta Perry
BOOK TWO
by Marta Perry
Available now from Berkley Books
Aflicker of movement from the lane beyond the kitchen window of the old farmhouse caught Rachel Brand’s eye as she leaned against the sink, washing up the bowl she’d used to make a batch of snickerdoodles. A buggy—ja, it must be Leah Glick, already bringing home Rachel’s two older kinder from the birthday party for their teacher.
Quickly she set the bowl down and splashed cold water on her eyes. It wouldn’t do to let her young ones suspect that their mamm had been crying while she baked. Smoothing her hair back under her kapp and arranging a smile on her lips, she went to the back door.
But the visitor was not Leah. It was a man alone, driving the buggy.
Shock shattered her curiosity when she recognized the strong face under the brim of the black Amish hat. Gideon Zook. Her fingers clenched, wrinkling the fabric of her dark apron. What did he want from her?
She stood motionless for a moment, her left hand tight on the door frame. Then she grabbed the black wool shawl that hung by the door, threw it around her shoulders, and stepped outside.
The cold air sent a shiver through her. It was mid-March already, but winter had not released its grip on Pleasant Valley, Pennsylvania. The snowdrops she had planted last fall quivered against the back step, their white cups a mute testimony that spring would come eventually. Everything else was as brown and barren as her heart felt these days.
A fierce longing for spring swept through her as she crossed the still-hard ground. If she could be in the midst of growing things, planting and nurturing her beloved garden—ach, there she might find the peace she longed for.
Everything was too quiet on the farm now. Even the barn was empty, the dairy cows already moved to the far field, taken care of by her young brother-in-law William in the early morning hours.
The Belgian draft horses Ezra had been so pleased to be able to buy were spending the winter at the farm of his oldest brother, Isaac. Only Dolly, six-year-old Joseph’s pet goat, bleated forlornly from her pen, protesting his absence.
Gideon had tethered his horse to the hitching post. Removing something from his buggy, he began pacing across the lawn, as if he measured something.
Then he saw her. He stopped, waiting. His hat was pushed back, and he lifted his face slightly, as if in appreciation of the watery sunshine. But Gideon’s broad shoulders were stiff under his black jacket, his eyes wary, and his mouth set above his beard.
Reluctance slowed her steps. Perhaps Gideon felt that same reluctance. Aside from the formal words of condolence he’d spoken to her once he was well enough to be out again after the accident, she and Gideon had managed to avoid talking to each other for months. That was no easy thing in a tight-knit Amish community.
She forced a smile. “Gideon, wilkom. I didn’t expect to be seeing you today.”
What are you doing here? That was what she really wanted to say.
“Rachel.” He inclined his head slightly, studying her face as if trying to read her feelings.
His own face gave little away—all strong planes and straight lines, like the wood he worked with in his carpentry business. Lines of tension radiated from his brown eyes, making him look older than the thirty-two she knew him to be. His work-hardened hands tightened on the objects he grasped—small wooden stakes, sharpened to points.
He cleared his throat, as if not sure what to say to her now that they were face-to-face. “How are you? And the young ones?”
“I’m well.” Except that her heart twisted with pain at the sight of him, at the reminder he brought of all she had lost. “The kinder also. Mary is napping, and Leah Glick took Joseph and Becky to a birthday luncheon the scholars are having for Mary Yoder.”
“Gut, gut.”
He moved a step closer to her, and she realized that his left leg was still stiff—a daily reminder for him, probably, of the accident.
For an instant the scene she’d imagined so many times flashed yet again through her mind, stealing her breath away. She seemed to see Ezra, high in the rafters of a barn, Gideon below him, the old timbers creaking, then breaking, Ezra falling as the barn collapsed like a house of cards . . .
She gasped a strangled breath, like a fish struggling on the bank of the pond. Revulsion wrung her stomach, and she slammed the door shut on her imagination.
She could not let herself think about that, not now. It was not Gideon’s fault that she couldn’t see him without imagining the accident that had taken Ezra away from them. She had to talk to him sensibly, had to find out what had brought him here. And how she could get him to go away again.
