Revealing, The (The Inn at Eagle Hill Book #3): A Novel

by Fisher, Suzanne Woods

  Naomi’s hand stopped in mid-pat, but Micky looked up at her and she finished the stroke. “Oh.”

  “A close friend. She says she was his . . . girlfriend. Her name is Paisley. Does that name ring a bell to you? Did Tobe ever mention a Paisley?”

  Naomi looked away. “No.” She felt a sudden chill.

  “I didn’t think so.” Bethany took in a deep breath. “I have to tell you this before someone else does. This Paisley is pregnant. Very pregnant. Soon to deliver. She says . . .”

  Naomi could feel the back of her neck get cold and clammy.

  “She says . . . that Tobe is the baby’s father.” Bethany’s fists clenched. “But I don’t believe a word she says, Naomi. You shouldn’t, either.”

  In instant response, Naomi’s throat tightened with fear and her pulse thrummed fast in her ears. She knew, in a disembodied way, that she would remember this moment forever. She knew the time and the date, and the way she sat on the porch steps with her hand stroking the head of the dog. She knew, with a certainty that she had never felt before about anything, that Paisley was going to bring trouble into her life. Real trouble, threatening everything she had hoped for.

  Out the kitchen window, Rose noticed Bethany and Naomi with their heads bent together outside on the porch steps, then she saw Naomi walk back toward her home, shrinking away like an animal that had received a blow. Shoulders slumped, chin down, hands clenched in tight fists. It was a look of Naomi’s with which Rose was familiar; it usually was a sign that she was suffering from a headache.

  But just ten minutes ago, she had slipped through the privet looking entirely different. Happy, lighthearted, practically glowing.

  Rose’s heart skipped a beat. Oh no. Oh no no no. Bethany must have told her about Paisley.

  9

  Brooke Snyder set out on her twenty-minute walk eager and happy, her step animated as she strode along the crunching gravel. She walked down the road beside green shoots of new grass that were sleek with dew, glistening in the morning sun, quivering now and then from a breeze. The world was resplendent, quiet and fresh, with sights and sounds of a new day. The creak of a windmill’s turning arms, the whinny of a horse in a pasture, the cawing of crows on a sagging telephone line.

  Why, the weather alone made her spirits dance. The midmorning sun felt like a golden caress on her back. A few meringue puffs of clouds floated high in the blue sky, a blue so rich it startled the senses.

  She passed by an Amish farmer and his son tilling fields, their plows harnessed to six brown, long-eared mules. When the breeze changed direction, she could even smell the good earthiness of the freshly turned dirt. A number of black-and-white cows stood along a wooden fence, rhythmically chewing their cud, regarding her with mild interest as she walked past them. A patchwork cat sat on a fence post, washing its face with an orange paw. A clumsy bumblebee buzzed around her, then dipped into a patch of yellow dandelions. An Amish woman walked briskly past her on the other side of the road, turning her bonneted head at the last moment to give her a shy smile.

  The Amish were such ordinary people, but in that very ordinariness Brooke saw goodness and decency. The men were built broad and strong, their thick hands calloused and hard. The women were truly plain by modern standards, with no makeup or hair coloring to camouflage the effects of aging. Clearly, they dressed for comfort rather than style, though she was surprised to see orange crocs on the feet of the woman who just passed by her. They surprised her, these people.

  Suddenly inspired, she wished she had brought her sketchpad with her to capture these bucolic scenes. With a start, she realized it was the very first time she’d had such a thought, in which a germ of an idea welled up inside her and she wanted to see it bear fruit, to become something. Her gait slowed as she tried to memorize all she saw on her walk. As soon as she returned to the guest flat, she would get those images down on paper before she forgot them.

  But to her surprise, she didn’t return back to the guest flat at Eagle Hill for two hours and then she had to hurry. She wanted to find a new outfit in town to wear, one that would bring out the gold flecks in her eyes, hoping she might accidentally-on-purpose bump into Jon Hoeffner later today. The sketches were forgotten.

  Later that morning, as soon as Rose saw Brooke Snyder’s car drive off, she hurried down to the guest flat to do a quick dusting and change the bed sheets. Brooke Snyder could be a talker, as she had discovered one morning when she brought a breakfast tray to her. She didn’t mind chatting a little with the guests, but today she was already behind in her morning work and it was nearly noon.

  She was pulling the top sheet off the bed as Paisley walked in and announced, “I’d like some breakfast. Would you mind bringing it to me? I’ll be in my room.”

  Rose’s teeth clenched. “Breakfast was hours ago, Paisley. But lunch will be on the table before too long.” She yanked the bottom sheet off the bed, a little more firmly than she needed to. “In the kitchen. That’s where we eat.”

  Paisley tilted her head at Rose, then walked around the rooms in the guest flat. “You know, this should do nicely for us. For a while, anyway.”

  Rose gathered wet towels from the bathroom. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I think Tobe and I and the baby will move in down here. Until you can find someplace else to live.”

  Rose stiffened. “Excuse me? Why would I need to find someplace else to live?”

  “Eagle Hill is our home. Tobe’s, mine, and the baby.” She caressed her high stomach, as if to remind Rose that she was about to deliver a child. There was something about her blue eyes, though, that looked like she was shooting poison darts. She’d never seen blue eyes that were so cold, like arctic ice.

  “Paisley, I don’t know what Tobe might have led you to believe, but this farm belongs to his grandmother.”

  “When she dies—and that day doesn’t seem too far off, judging from the looks of her—he’ll get it all.”

  Rose bundled the sheets into a ball and tossed them in a wicker laundry basket. “Such news might surprise Vera.”

  Paisley hesitated. “I’ll move down here until it all gets sorted out.”

  “This guest flat is a business for us. I have reservations for it throughout the summer. Hopefully, even more in the fall. We need the income. I count on it to support my children.”

  Paisley narrowed her eyes. “I was told that Tobe came from a well-to-do family.”

  “Tobe might have exaggerated.”

  “I don’t believe you!”

  “I’m telling you the truth, Paisley,” Rose explained patiently. “There is no money.”

  Paisley was having none of it. She spun on Rose, lines of stubborn determination forming around her mouth. “Or maybe you’re just angling to keep it all for yourself.” Her voice grew bitter. “I’ve read all about your husband in the papers. I know there’s money. Somewhere. There’s money someplace in this old rat trap of a farm.”

  Rose struggled to hold on to her temper. “I don’t know what you’ve read or what Tobe has told you, but there is no money.”

  Darting Rose a last hostile glance, Paisley shot out of the room.

  Rose watched her go. She wished she could talk to Tobe. She needed to find out the truth, but at the same time, she didn’t want the truth.

  As soon as Galen had left for the auction in Mount Joy the next day, Naomi made up a bagged lunch, brushed her teeth, and waited outside for the driver to pick her up. Since she had learned about Paisley yesterday, her anxiety escalated with each passing hour. Today, she was determined to go to the federal prison to talk to Tobe about this Paisley woman. Hiring a driver would cut time off the trip, both ways, faster than the bus. Galen would be gone until late afternoon, and Jimmy Fisher had already agreed to feed the livestock. If things went well, she would be back by suppertime and no one would be the wiser. Except she hoped she would be made wise to the Paisley situation.

  As she waited, she felt all those unruly vines of emotion within her
start to settle. Of course, of course Tobe would tell her that he had never known a woman named Paisley. Everything would be sorted out as soon as she talked to Tobe. Of course it would.

  She reached into her pockets and realized she’d forgotten her Tums, so she hurried back inside to get a new pack, maybe two packs, just as she heard a car turn into the driveway.

  She chose this particular driver, Mr. Kurtz, to take her to FCI Schuykill for three reasons: one, he drove fast, and two, he didn’t like to talk, and three, he didn’t gossip about where he drove his passengers. He never spoke about other people so everyone knew their secrets were safe.

  She stared out the window through most of the trip, growing more anxious by the minute. Thoughts of Paisley dogged her, twining together the worry about her and Tobe’s future. Would there be a future for them at all? She thought of Bethany’s remark that her grandmother was delighted with Paisley’s arrival—convinced this young woman was the way to keep Tobe in the fold. Was that what it would take? Could this be God’s plan for Tobe? If so, she had completely missed the signals from God and that created another tangling vine of worry. Her stomach tightened into a burning ball, making her regret what she’d eaten for breakfast. Breathe, Naomi. Deep, deep breaths. Six in, seven out. Or was it seven in, six out?

  She might be worried for nothing. Tobe might tell her that he didn’t know a girl named Paisley. That was her best hope. That was what she had come to hear.

  Minutes slid by, one into the next. She had chewed through one roll of Tums by the time Mr. Kurtz pulled over in front of the prison. “Want me to come back in a few hours?”

  “Do you mind waiting? I don’t think I’ll be too long. I don’t think there will be a wait to get in like there is on weekends.”

  “I don’t mind at all.” He gave her a sympathetic nod. “Is it as bad as they say?”

  “He says it’s not too bad. He’s in that adjacent building there, the minimum security prison.” She pointed out the window to a nondescript building. “He’s not in a jail cell. He says he sleeps in a room with bunks.”

  “Do you get up here to visit a lot?”

  “No. He only gets eight points a month and each weekend visit requires two points. Weekday visits are only one point.” That was one of the reasons Tobe didn’t encourage his family to visit him—he wanted to save his points for Naomi’s visits.

  “I’ve seen on the television that you have to talk to prisoners through a glass partition.”

  “Not here,” Naomi said. “It’s a big room with chairs, all in a row.”

  Mr. Kurtz lit up. “So at least you can hold hands with your fellow.”

  Naomi felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. “The guards walk around the room, watching everybody.”

  He opened his palm to reveal a few dollars. “Give them to your young man. I hear money talks in the pokey.”

  He was such a nice man. She tried to smile, though she knew it came out all wrong. “Thank you, Mr. Kurtz, but money has to go straight to the prison commissary accounts. Tobe says inmates aren’t allowed to handle any money.” How strange it was that she knew that fact and so many others about prison life.

  Naomi was briefly detained while her clearance on the preapproved list was verified at the security gate. Then she was asked to put her house key and the money she’d brought to pay Mr. Kurtz into clear plastic bags before she was led into the visitation room. She sat down on a hard plastic chair to wait for Tobe. Her breathing grew shallow, and she started to feel like she couldn’t get enough air. Pins and needles pricked the ends of her fingers, and her whole body began to quake as if she had chills. Over and over she said, “Oh-God-help-me-help-me-help-me please.” She kept saying it until she found her muscles start to soften, and then, her symptoms began to relax their grip on her.

  Ten minutes later, Tobe was brought in, wearing the prison garb: a khaki button-up shirt and khaki pants, his dark hair shaved close to his skull. Such short hair would have made any other Amish man look like a plucked chicken. But not Tobe. He was so handsome he took her breath away. He saw her and rushed to her. They hugged like long-lost lovers parted unwillingly, which is exactly what they were. Then he kissed her until she felt dizzy and breathless and thoroughly confused.

  Some caution seemed to seep back into her and she pulled back, embarrassed by such a public display of affection. He tucked her arm into his and they sat in chairs, facing each other, holding hands.

  “I couldn’t believe it when I was told I had a visitor today. You were just here, Naomi. Why now?”

  “Something has happened.”

  His smile faded. “Mammi Vera has passed.”

  “Oh no. No.” She shook her head. “Nothing like that.”

  His smiled returned. “What is it? What brought you all the way to Minersville?”

  She looked down at their intertwined hands. “Do you remember a woman named Paisley?”

  Tobe stilled. “Yeah. Sure. Why?”

  “When did you meet her?”

  “Awhile back, while I was scrounging around for that year, living from place to place. She was a waitress. I guess she sort of took a shine to me.”

  “How well did you know her?”

  “She let me crash at her place when I had run out of options. Just for a few nights—then I found a construction job over in Mount Joy and I didn’t see her anymore.” He tipped his head. “What’s all this about?”

  She peered at him. “But what I’m asking is, how well did you know her?”

  “I told you. Not well.”

  “Did you know her . . . in the biblical sense?” Naomi’s tone was light, her question deadly serious.

  Tobe’s face went slack. “Why would you ask me a question like that?” He pulled his hands away and leaned back in the chair. “Why in the world would you ask me such a question?”

  “Paisley has come to Eagle Hill. To stay. To deliver a baby she says is yours.”

  Tobe looked at her in disbelief. “Impossible!”

  “Is it, Tobe? Is it truly impossible?” She kept her eyes steady on his. She didn’t want him to back away from the question. She needed an answer.

  In a flash, his face went from fury to guilt to resignation. “No,” he said quietly, as the color drained from his face. He looked up, drew a deep sigh, and spoke very gently. “No, it’s not entirely impossible.”

  Naomi would remember forever how it felt when Tobe told her that indeed, he had known Paisley, in a biblical way. She felt the shock rush through her, prickling her skin and making her head tingle.

  “She’s lying. It’s all a terrible mistake, Naomi. I would know if I had fathered a child with that girl. I would know it. I can’t imagine why she would do this, out of the blue. But I don’t know the kind of person she is.”

  Naomi squeezed her eyes shut at that last sentence. And yet he knew her well enough to know her.

  She was very still as she sat and listened to him. Her face changed from time to time, concerned and distressed and compassionate as Tobe explained his tale of loneliness and misery, hastening to put her anxieties at rest: he was just with Paisley a few times and it never meant anything to either of them and he was having such a terrible time when he was in self-exile. She had to force herself to keep from looking stricken, horrified, when he said Paisley must be crazy because he was the last person in the world anyone should choose as a father for their child.

  “Could she be lying about the timing? Would you have . . . known her . . . last August? Before you returned to Stoney Ridge?”

  Tobe dropped his eyes. “Yes. I was with her one last time, before I returned home. I was a mess, wrestling with coming back home, and I got really drunk. I don’t remember much of anything except waking up in the morning at her place again, with people there I didn’t even know. I decided right then that I’d go home.” He looked up, misery flooding his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

  For a moment, Naomi couldn’t breathe. When she took in a full breath, her ey
es started to sting. Oh Lord, don’t let me cry. Not here. Not now.

  “Say something, Naomi. Anything.” His voice was only a whisper.

  She tried to respond but the torrent of words welling up inside her wouldn’t budge.

  “You’re as white as a sheet.”

  “I’m fine.” She wasn’t fine. Her muscles and emotions had all turned to jelly.

  “Please believe me. I’m begging you. Begging you, Naomi. You’re my only sure center. The only thing I need.”

  “But I’m not, Tobe,” she said, strangely calm, though her temples were starting to pound and spots had started to dance before her eyes. “No one can ever be another person’s center. That position belongs only to God.” She glanced at the clock and said she thought she should leave.

  His dismay was enormous. “You can’t go now, you’ve only been here a short time.”

  “But you’ve told me everything.”

  “No, I haven’t told you anything really. I’ve only skimmed the surface.”

  But she had heard what she came to hear. “I have to go back, Tobe. I would have, anyway, no matter what you told me. I need to get home before my brother returns from the horse auction.”

  They rose to say goodbye.

  “I never, ever intended to hurt you,” Tobe said.

  Her stomach knotted with worry and she put a hand to her head as if she were coming down with a dreadful headache . . . which she was. “It doesn’t matter what you intended. What matters is . . . what is.”

  What matters is what is.

  “Did I do the wrong thing, telling you the truth?” He was a child again, confused and uncertain.

  When she first arrived, she had hoped that Tobe would smile his lovely, familiar, heart-turning smile and say, “I’ve never heard of anyone named Paisley,” and they would fall happily into each other’s arms. But Tobe didn’t say such a thing. It felt like the time when they all thought that Luke had drowned in Blue Lake Pond and it turned out later he’d just gone on home the other way. Well, that’s the kind of fear she had now. She knew this kind of fear—it went bone deep.